


What's in a Name?

by DDreadful



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), History hopping, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-06-27 19:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 36,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19797100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDreadful/pseuds/DDreadful
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale always ended up together. Before the Fall it felt like a blessing, afterwards Crowley was sure it was punishment. They had developed a fragile friendship over the millennia, but with Aziraphale's memories blocked and Heaven and Hell unable to let go of the past will the two ever be able to take the next step?Contains some major character discorporation, but no real death.





	1. Fall

Pain. It was radiating through every atom of his body before settling heavily onto his wings and into his eyes. He tried to move, but it made his muscles shake and burn. The pain was so all encompassing that the awareness of it was the only thing he could process for a long time. Eventually it dulled, or more likely, he went numb to it. Then he became conscious of the smell. Pungent and acidic, it was a heavy fog all around him. The smell of earth scorched by lightening. Brimstone. It was blacker than pitch and he couldn’t see when he opened his eyes, so he kept them closed. The acrid fog burned them anyway. He could hear buzzing, like a billion flies were hovering just over his head. Then something wet squelching in the distance, moving closer to him. Footsteps, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind. The sound was footsteps moving through the hot, thick muck he was languishing in. A voice, low and graveled with something akin to damage, was booming through the still air. He didn’t recognize it. It was saying names, familiar ones, listing them. It said his name as the footsteps passed by him. He tried to lift his head, the pain crashed over him with renewed intensity. He blacked out.  
  
It continued like that for so long that he forgot what his body felt like. He forgot what his voice sounded like. He forgot his name. He remembered falling. Eventually he had to move, and when he did it was a slow contraction of muscle that inched him through the muck. His limbs were useless and trailed behind his body. He wanted to get out of the muck. He was so hot. He crawled on his belly for so long that he forgot where he was trying to go. The only thing he knew was that he must move. The muck seemed to go on forever.  
  
When he felt cold, rough stone on his skin he stopped moving. He was out of the muck and his stomach hurt intensely from the effort. He lay on the stone and dozed, the cold sapping his energy and making him so very tired. Dreams of wind whipping his face and fear haunted him. When he awoke and opened his eyes he could see again. There was a low, grey light filtering from somewhere nearby and it was enough to make out his surroundings. His eyesight was bad, whether it be the lighting or some other damage he didn’t know. He made out shapes around him. There were others nearby, cautiously moving out of the muck. Frogs, lizards and insects. All manner of things were crawling their way out. There was one being that stood tall over the others and this being was watching with an expression his poor eyesight couldn’t distinguish. The damaged voice sounded softly, but he couldn’t comprehend what it said. He tried to stand, but found that his legs and arms weren’t there. He curled in on himself, confused and afraid. In a tight coil he watched as others swarmed the stone, drawn inexplicably towards the being who was still speaking softly. It was listing what sounded like names.


	2. Forgotten

Crawly (a name he had earned due to his inability to stand in the early days) had been told to make some trouble. He had done quite well at the task and as such was allowed to remain on the earth, working his temptations in relative peace. Relative, because the principality that had been told to keep an eye on Man seemed to cross his path with irritating regularity. Aziraphale. Crawly liked him and it annoyed him to no end. He was a demon, he shouldn’t be capable of liking anyone, let alone an angel. He knew he liked him when they had stood overlooking Eden and the angel had confessed that he had given away his flaming sword. How could the pure, innocent angel do something so… rebellious? It intrigued him that the angel hadn’t fallen, but he was relieved. Aziraphale didn’t seem the type to adapt well to Hell. Crawly should know. 

Memories of the time before the fall were foggy, but intact, much to the horror of every one-time-angel Below. They pretended not to remember and most of them changed their names. They wanted to cut ties to Heaven and most wouldn’t admit that it was because the memories of what they had lost were painful. It seemed that wasn’t the case for those still Above. He had discovered that bit of information by mistake. 

He was in what would become known as Egypt. Crawly was strolling through a busy marketplace. He was using a little magic to make his eyes appear to be green, human eyes. He’d had a bit of fun when his yellow eyes had caused him to be mistaken for a god a few years earlier, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of game today. Being worshiped as some all powerful cat deity had been mildly amusing. The locals had mistaken his eyes for feline and he supposed his hissing, which he was still having trouble getting a handle on, hadn’t helped. They brought him offerings of finely spiced fish and beautiful jewelry in exchange for protection. They asked him for protection from venomous serpents. The irony wasn't lost on him. 

He didn’t want to deal with any overly perceptive humans making assumptions about his nature today. He was just looking to stir up a bit of trouble to keep himself busy. It took a lot of focus to change his eyes, and he blamed that distraction for allowing the angel to sneak up on him. 

“You!” 

The demon did not jump, but he did turn very quickly to face the speaker. “Ah,” he grinned, without sighing in relief at all. “Aziraphale. What are you doing here?” 

“I should be asking you the same thing,” the angel said warily. His blue eyes were fixed on the demon’s as he edged closer to him. 

“Don’t get yourself worked up, angel,” he smiled wickedly. “I’ve been here a while,” Crawly looked away from the angel’s bright eyes. “Just planning how I’m going to make my exit. It’s about time I moved to another part of the world. Like to go out with a bang, you know.” Aziraphale frowned, leaning closer to the demon. 

“My word,” he breathed softly. “I do hope that isn’t permanent.” 

“What?” Crawly refused to move away, despite the proximity of the angel, and his divine energy, making him feel a bit queasy. 

“Your eyes, of course,” Aziraphale tutted. “Not that the green isn’t nice,” he said quickly, as if fearing that he may have insulted the demon. “But really, I rather prefer the yellow.” 

“Well,” Crawly tilted his head curiously, his dark hair falling into his face with the movement. “That’s an odd thing for you to say. My eyes are rather demonic, don’t you think?” 

“Maybe,” the angel conceded. “But something about the yellow just,” he made an uncertain gesture with his hands. “It simply suits you, dear.” 

Crawly frowned, finally taking a step away from the angel. The term of endearment made him feel warm in an unpleasant way. He assumed it was the holy energy the angel was radiating. Aziraphale was either unaware that it was irritating to the demon or didn’t care. Crawly decided that his efforts would be better spent shielding himself from the heavenly assault. He let the illusion fall away from his eyes and observed the angel’s delighted smile as the yellow orbs became visible to him. Something in his chest fluttered at the joyful expression on Aziraphale’s face. He shuffled his feet a little as he moved further away. “So, what brought you to this part of the world anyway?” 

“Oh, Uriel told me I should come. Things are progressing so very quickly here! Such incredibly innovative people! Above wants a full report.” The angel schooled his face into a more serious expression, but he was bouncing slightly on his heels as he looked around them, obviously excited. 

Crawly's frown deepened. “I don’t know why you let those archangels boss you around,” he said with a grimace. “You’re an odd little principality.” 

Aziraphale flushed and averted his gaze, pretending to be focused on the humans milling about. “Yes, well,” he smiled, but it seemed forced. “They are delivering my orders from Above.” 

“You outrank them,” Crawly pointed out. “Acting as messengers sure, but that isn’t the impression I get.” 

“Oh they’re just overeager,” Aziraphale made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Besides, no one Up There really understands humans. I’m afraid they sometimes have trouble comprehending what goes on down here.” 

“The same for Below,” Crawly nodded. “But I wouldn’t allow an archangel to make demands of me.” He could hear the distaste in his own voice and hated himself for it. Aziraphale stared at him for a long time without saying anything. Crawly was becoming uncomfortable under the scrutiny and waved his hand, upsetting the burden a young woman was carrying and sending fruit scattering across the sand. The attention of the humans nearby was diverted, but Aziraphale didn’t look away. 

“Crawly,” he asked, curiosity dancing in those clear blue eyes, “did you outrank archangels?” 

“I outranked _you_ ,” Crawly hissed, anger flaring up in his chest. He stared down at the angel, fangs visible behind his tightly drawn lips. Aziraphale just stared. 

“You remember your rank?” The pure wonder in his small voice took the venom out of Crawly’s expression. 

“Of course I do,” he said softly. “Are you saying you don’t remember me, from before?” Aziraphale shook his head slowly. “Nothing?” Crawly insisted. 

“No, I’m afraid not.” Aziraphale turned and looked away from him, staring at nothing in particular. “Other than Lucifer we can’t remember any of you,” he bit his lip and rocked on his heels. “At least, not until the garden. It’s as if you didn’t exist before the Fall.” 

“Well we did,” Crawly said softly. “Right up there with your lot and H-” he choked on the word and turned away from the angel. The information was too much. Those left in heaven were spared even the pain of losing the friends that had fallen. It was too cruel. Crawly’s wings snapped out and he took off, leaving a confused and upset angel standing on the hot sand alone.


	3. Dreaming

Aziraphale was floating about three inches from the ground, his wings pumping behind him and creating a gentle breeze as he slowly flitted about. He was newly created. Not a baby or a child, just new. He was blinking his wide blue eyes at everything and the smile on his face was filled with innocent love and adoration for everything he saw. He hadn’t been given a purpose yet, at least not one that he knew of, so he was just wandering around Heaven and basking in the warm glow that enveloped everything. He was observing other angels and wondering what his role would be in the Great Plan. He hoped it would be something truly useful, he wanted to feel a part of all of the majesty around him. The choir of angels were bustling about as always and the archangels with them, keeping order. 

Heaven was bright and warm with a cool breeze blowing through. There were fields of soft grass and buildings of cool, smooth stone. Heaven was a lot of things, and the landscape was continuously shifting depending on the particular tastes of the angels around. Aziraphale liked the fields and the creeks most of all. 

There were melodious voices nearby, and although he didn’t recognize them he felt drawn closer. He moved towards the sound and saw three angels standing near a fountain. Two of them he recognized, but one he had never seen before. The first was tall and broad shouldered with bright eyes that seemed to look right through you. He was a Dominion, you could tell by the long robe and gold sash around his waist, and ranked far above Aziraphale. In fact all of these angels did. Beside him stood a slender, feminine Throne with bright orange hair. Aziraphale had seen them both before, but never had much interest in them. Something about them made him feel strange in a way that he couldn’t identify. 

The third angel was tall and slim. He had hair blacker than night and sun kissed skin. His voice was low and sonorous. Aziraphale didn’t know humility or embarrassment. He wasn’t concerned with intruding on a conversation, he only knew that he liked the voice and wanted to be closer to the angel it was coming from.

The dark haired angel turned towards him as he moved closer. Aziraphale was smiling sweetly and the other angel regarded him with a warm, amused smile of his own. He had high cheekbones and clear, golden eyes. He was very nice to look at. 

“Hello little Prince,” he spoke softly. 

Aziraphale felt his heart flutter at the greeting. The angel said farewell to his companions who departed with kind smiles towards him.“Well, you’re brand new aren’t you,” the older angel turned his full attention to Aziraphale. “Seems there are more Principalities now than ever before. I wonder what He has planned for you?” 

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said softly. The other angel was glorious. He spoke with a gentle authority that gave away his age and regarded the young angel with affection and interest. He carded his fingers lightly through Aziraphale’s fair, wavy hair and hummed to himself. 

“I’m sure it’s something wonderful,” he said, reassuring him when he didn’t know he’d been concerned. “What’s your name?” 

“I’m Aziraphale,” he said, captivated by the golden eyes. They were shining like honey in the light and he wanted to memorize them. No other angel he had met had golden eyes. 

“It’s nice to meet you Aziraphale, my name is-”

Aziraphale woke with a start. He was cold but his skin felt damp and he shuddered at the uncomfortable sensation. He had the impression of golden eyes watching him, but whatever he had been dreaming was slipping away quickly. He let it go. He hadn’t meant to sleep. In fact he’d never slept before. He just felt so drained after everything that had happened over the past few days. 

Seeing Crawly, no Crowley, at the crucifixion had surprised him. The genuine remorse that the demon seemed to feel over what was happening had surprised him more. It made him remember the flood and how Crowley had seemed so shocked and disturbed by the way the Lord had chosen to punish those he found un-redeemable. Of course, it was more complicated than either of them had realized at the time. When everything about the Watcher angels had come out it had made the flood easier for Aziraphale to accept. The fact that he had questioned it at all deeply concerned him. 

The Watcher angels had been created after the creation of man, and Aziraphale had met them briefly. After all, he was the only other angel that had extensive experience with humans. There were 200 of them, and they had been given a relatively small section of the earth to work on. They were tasked with helping humanity grow. In order to make it easier for them to understand Man, they were different from all other angels (or demons). They weren’t strictly celestial, but something between angelic and human. This, as it turned out, was a problem. As the Watchers lived alongside the humans, watching over them and observing their growth, they became emotionally involved. 

They started to teach Man things they weren’t meant to know. Things like magic and how to read the stars. They imparted knowledge to make the lives of Men easier. That would have been bad enough, as the Almighty had made it clear Men weren’t ready for that knowledge. Then the Watcher’s began to fall in love. They took human women as lovers and those women bore children. These half angel children, the Nephilim, shared the inhumanly large stature of their angelic father’s but none of their temperament. They were rather monstrous, and the flood had been necessary to wipe them all out and keep the corrupted genetics from spreading further.

When the Watchers had Fallen it had been more or less quiet. The spectacle that had been the Fall of Lucifer and his companions was not repeated. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why and he wasn’t sure if this was really better. Everyone remembered the Watchers. All of Heaven could recall what they had done in the relatively short period they had been around. It had become common knowledge that they were quietly locked away until the end times. Not cast out of Heaven, not condemned to Hell. Rather, they had been sequestered in some space in between to simply wait. 

Aziraphale remembered Crowley’s eyes when he had learned that Heaven had forgotten them and he felt wretched. He recalled the screams and the chaos when nearly a quarter of the Heavenly host had been torn away and he felt sick. He remembered his own misery after having his memories ripped away. It had left him feeling hollow and alone. None of it seemed fair.


	4. Dragon

Crowley was having a very bad decade. Ever since the crucifixion things had gone from bad to worse. He’d been more disturbed by the event than he liked to admit, and it was a small comfort that Aziraphale had seemed to share his misgivings about all of the violence Above had been sanctioning. He’d left the continent shortly afterward. There was so much going on with the new religion spreading around and the horrors facing those first believers wasn’t anything he wanted to be associated with. He’d gone to what would become China and settled in near a river to the North. 

There weren’t many humans around, which suited him just fine. He didn’t much feel like tempting anyone. The fog that had clung to his memories of Heaven and the Fall in the early years had cleared and the new clarity of his memories was torture. In the past few years he’d come to realize something about himself. His talent for temptation, and make no mistake he had a talent for it, lay in the fact that he never explicitly told anyone to do anything. He merely asked questions. The right questions, when asked in the right tone, could prompt anyone to action. He had a talent for it because it was what he himself had done for longer than he could quantify. He was afraid, somewhere deep down, that his questions had tempted a number of angels into their Falls. The guilt was stifling. 

Crowley had been living in a cave on the outskirts of a village for a few months and was using small miracles to keep himself well stocked on potent drink. He wanted to drink himself into oblivion, but that wasn’t possible. It didn’t stop him from trying. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep he saw horrific things and so he had no other choice. He drank until he couldn’t stand, couldn’t manage his own powers. 

That’s the state he was in the night it happened. As he lurked around the river near sunset his mind was trapped in a spiral that he couldn’t pull out of. He was remembering angels he had Fallen with. He was recalling every question he had ever asked them and tallying in his own mind how many he was personally responsible for corrupting. His purpose Above had been to reinforce belief, to bolster devotion. How had it gone so wrong? How had _he_ gone so wrong? Why was he like this? He was struck with the image of innocent blue eyes shimmering with unshed emotion as Aziraphale looked at him. In the garden, before the flood, even during the crucifixion. How many questions had he asked the young principality? What kind of doubt had he planted in the angel’s heart? 

He felt dirty, as though the muck that made up the sulfuric ocean of Hell was still clinging to his skin. He pulled at his hair in an attempt to distract himself from the thoughts. He felt hot liquid on his face and screamed in frustration. He pulled out handfuls of his black hair but the pain was nothing compared to the anguish in his chest. He turned his clawed fingers on his wings, tearing out bloody handfuls of feathers and positively roaring with the effort. 

He heard gasps and whispering and lifted his tear-streaked face towards the sound. There was a small group of humans near the river bank, watching him with rapt attention and horror. Crowley hissed and, unable to think of any other way out of the situation, he reverted to his serpentine form and threw himself into the water. 

The image of his transformation must have left quite an impression, because he got a commendation from Below for inspiring the fear of a new creature in the region. He’d seen a painting of the creature some time later and had to admit there was a likeness. It had enormous wings and a long serpentine body with clawed hands. Its mouth was open in a roar that showcased its fangs. Crowley avoided that part of the world for a century.


	5. Visit

It was the late third century and Crowley was traveling with a band of Visigoths. They were steadfastly resisting Roman influence and he found himself rather enjoying their culture over the excess Rome had become accustomed to. There wasn’t much tempting to be done, but he could take a little credit for the skirmishes and battles that the tribe took part in and that was enough to keep Below satisfied for a while. Or at least, he thought it was. 

He’d been accepted readily by the tribe after a skirmish within the borders of Rome where Crowley had, inadvertently, assisted the tribe in overpowering the Roman forces. He was trying to get out of the way when he came across a Roman guard holding his sword on a young woman. Without thinking he’d turned the blade into a squirming serpent. This tribe wasn’t looking for a fight, they were fleeing one. The Huns were pressing in on their traditional homeland and the Visigoths, wisely fearing the ferocity of the Huns, were moving south in an attempt to avoid them. 

Crowley, in a very undemonlike fashion, had always had a problem with children being caught in the crossfire. His anger at the sight had caused him to miscalculate and he actually turned all of the Roman swords into serpents, sending the guards fleeing. The complicated hand gesture he’d performed to transfigure the blades had been witnessed by the leader of the tribe and Crowley had been treated as a powerful and respected magician by the tribe ever since. It had been a long time since he’d felt truly welcome anywhere and he’d decided to stay and rest for a while. He was still feeling raw from the past few centuries and his mind was assaulted with memories he couldn’t keep away. 

He didn’t sleep for a long time because the dreams were too vivid. He avoided communication with Hell and did what he could to avoid detection by Heaven. He just wanted to be left alone. He hadn’t seen Aziraphale for over two hundred years. He had nearly convinced himself it was for the best. As much as he longed to see the angel’s face he knew that the pain it would renew for him would be unbearable. He enjoyed the company of the Visigoths and liked to pretend he could remain a part of their band for a few decades, at least. 

Hastur arrived on a moonless night while the humans slept. He lurked through the quiet campsite and peered menacingly at each person he passed. Crowley was equal parts annoyed and terrified. He was annoyed because he hated Hastur. He was terrified because this was the first time Hell had felt the need to check up on him. He silently stalked away from the humans and into a thick copse of trees. Hastur followed. 

“Crowley,” the Duke of Hell glowered in the darkness. 

“Hastur,” Crowley returned, with less venom and more anxiety. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“What are you doing about the principality?” Hastur’s tone and body language were hostile. He crowded Crowley against the trunk of a wide tree and his hot, horrid breath puffed against the other demon’s face. 

Crowley stared dumbly for a full thirty seconds. Of all of the reasons for Hell to send a Duke to check up on him, Aziraphale was the very last he would have guessed. “Wha- Wh- er…” he blinked owlishly. “What principality?” 

Hastur growled menacingly, “You know exactly what principality.” 

“Aziraphale,” he said softly. “Right, well, uh, what about him?” 

“Do you have any idea what he’s done?” If Hastur moved any closer he’d be right on top of Crowley. “Whatever game you’re playing out here has you distracted. While you’re playing native with these humans, that angel is undoing centuries of demonic influence!” 

Crowley had sensed the angel and deliberately avoided him. The idea of inadvertently influencing Aziraphale to Fall made his stomach twist in knots and, even though he didn’t need to breathe, it made him feel like he was suffocating. The last time he saw the angel was in Rome and Aziraphale had seemed so happy to see him. It made everything so much worse. 

“I had noticed something,” he said carefully. “But I didn’t think it was worth addressing. I mean, he’s not… Aziraphale is harmless. Er, he’s not a threat to us.” It sounded pathetic. 

“He is fostering religious tolerance and peace in Rome!” 

Crowley blanched. “Religious tolerance?” he narrowed his eyes. “In Rome? Hell’s sake…” he cursed. 

“Precisely.” Hastur grumbled. “Do something about it. If your,” he looked down his nose at Crowley, “ _history_ with this angel is going to make you emotional,” he looked truly disgusted, “you can and will be replaced.” He didn't need to explicitly state the threat, Crowley knew what would happen to him if he were deemed useless to Hell. It involved flaying. 

“Right, of course. No problem. I’ll handle it. Keen to do it.” Crowley had never thrown up before, but he felt like he might now and not just because of Hastur’s breath. 

“See that you do.” Hastur took a step out of Crowley’s personal space, eyes fixed on the serpent's. “You may have the rest of them fooled, Crawly, but not me. I don’t trust you.” 

“Well,” Crowley gave an exaggerated shrug. “You really shouldn’t. Demon, and all.”


	6. Thwarted

It would become known as “the Little Peace”, and Aziraphale was quite proud of it. It hadn’t been easy, but with the mighty pen and no little amount of angelic influence, Aziraphale was able to bring religious peace to Rome. The commendation he’d gotten was very flattering. 

Really, he was amazed that Crowley hadn’t shown up to sour his good work. In fact, he hadn’t seen the demon since they had oysters in Rome. He’d been over eager when he’d spotted the demon back then, and overlooked the other’s reluctance to socialize with him. It wasn’t until the two of them were sitting across from each other that he’d really noticed how tense the other was. If he weren't of angelic stock and therefore immune to Earthly sickness, Aziraphale would have thought Crowley was ill. 

Perhaps it was for the best. Whenever he thought of the demon he got the feeling, somewhere buried deep in his chest, that there was something important he couldn’t remember. Something absolutely critical that he just couldn’t recall. He tried to convince himself that the thing he needed to remember was that the two were not friends and never could be. They’re on opposite sides. Crowley is a wily serpent that isn't to be trusted. But, as far as demons went, Crowley wasn’t the worst to be facing off against. He didn’t do truly heinous things. Aziraphale almost wanted to like him. 

Actually, he’d been feeling the phantoms of ancient memories buzzing around his mind a lot in the past century. It was the reason Aziraphale had thrown himself so thoroughly into his work. If nothing else he was too busy to give the sensations more than a glancing thought. He dreamed of soft touches and a gentle voice but when he woke it all evaporated. Nothing but the faintest inkling of what his mind had been conjuring was left for his conscious awareness to latch onto. He tried not to sleep. 

Aziraphale was sitting outside of the lovely little home he was an honored guest in and sipping a fine red wine when a cool breeze started in the East. He recognized the smell it carried as the heady, smoky sweet scent of Crowley. He took a breath to steel himself and stood. 

He'd expected Crowley to fly in and was surprised to see the demon strolling casually down the street towards him. He was dressed in a dark robe and boots with a grey fur thrown over his shoulder. He had a leather belt around his waist with a sword hanging from it. His hair was smoothed back from his forehead and fastened with a small piece of leather. He'd clearly been living among the barbarian tribes. 

Aziraphale was dressed in the standard Roman tunic, cinched at the waist, with a light blue cloak. His hair was cut short and combed neatly. He appreciated the Roman penchant for neatness in appearance, it suited him. The barbarian robes were oddly flattering on Crowley's slim frame. He pushed the thought aside. 

"Crowley," the angel greeted once the demon was within a reasonable distance. 

"Hello, angel," he responded, sounding wretched. He stopped a few feet from Aziraphale and the angel frowned at the expression in the serpentine eyes. He didn't look much better than he had two hundred odd years ago. 

"It's been a long time," Aziraphale said kindly. "Wine?"

Crowley was quiet for a moment as he searched the angel's face. "Afraid not," he finally said. "Not a personal visit."

"Oh?" Aziraphale said curiously. "What's your business with me then?"

"Thwarting."

"Well isn't that novel, meant to be the other way around isn't it?" 

"I sssuppose so," Crowley sighed. 

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale asked, despite himself. Hissing was a telltale sign of stress. 

"Don't be niccce to me," Crowley grimaced. "All thisss tranquility in Rome of all places, do you have any idea the trouble you've caused me?" He looked over Aziraphale's shoulder at the pleasant little house and frowned. "I can't just let thisssssssslide."

"I see," Aziraphale frowned back. 

"It won't be long." Crowley's hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword. "Things are already moving. You may not want to sssstick around to sssee it." 

"I've worked very hard here," Aziraphale said indignantly. "I'm not just going to stand aside and let you destroy it, Crowley." He planted his feet firmly and stared at the demon, face stern. Crowley sighed and blinked his tired, dull eyes. Aziraphale looked meaningfully at the demon's slender hand and it dropped away from the sword. 

Crowley smiled humorlessly. "I didn't really expect you would." He turned his back and stepped away, then hesitated. "Take care, angel," he said softly. 

Aziraphale found himself wanting to reach out and stop him. Something was terribly wrong with the demon. Maybe it was beyond Aziraphale's ability to ease his burden, maybe he shouldn't even try, but he couldn't help but feel distressed about the other's state. 

Crowley unfolded his wings and with one great wing-beat he was off. Aziraphale found himself reaching helplessly towards the other as he vanished. 

It wasn't long before Crowley's warning became manifest. Aziraphale saw him in Rome over the next few years, but the demon wouldn't acknowledge him with more than a few meaningful glances. He tried to meet with the other, but he would vanish when Aziraphale got close. He looked gaunt and pale. Aziraphale wished it didn't bother him so much to see the demon that way. He attributed the concern to his angelic love for all things. 

In 303 CE it became clear what temptations Crowley had been whispering and into whose ear. Emperor Diocletian declared Christianity once again illegal. It would be the last great persecution of Christians in Rome and was blessedly short lived, thanks to Aziraphale's hard work. Still, the damage was done. The harmony the angel had worked so hard to achieve was shattered.

As soon as the first edict was passed the demon vanished from Rome. Aziraphale left a few years after, not sure why he felt compelled to follow the demon, but unable to stop himself. Despite his best efforts he couldn’t find Crowley for another couple of centuries. 

By the time he met the demon parading as the black Knight, Crowley seemed to have recovered from whatever illness had been plaguing him.


	7. Rescue

It was the mid tenth century and the Eastern world was undergoing a lot of changes. The later three kingdoms in what would be Korea had been unified and what would be Vietnam had recently achieved independence from China. Crowley enjoyed all of the chaos major restructuring brought about and decided to settle in for a while.

Vietnam wasn't chaotic. It was painfully bureaucratic. Crowley hated the status quo. She was itching to stir things up in a big way. Laying low to avoid Aziraphale for so long had left her with an excess of demonic energy that needed to be expelled. She wandered the country until she settled into a village in the North East. 

Occasionally Crowley got bored of being man-shaped. Generally it was comfortable and there was no refuting that it was usually easier to travel the world alone that way. Still, there were undeniably times when Crowley just didn't feel male. Luckily for the demon, changing human shape was a simple matter. Not that it changed drastically. Crowley was satisfied with her body's overall shape and she quite liked her face. 

The village was beautiful, although it rained a lot. Crowley liked the local fashion, so that was a plus. She wore a long black skirt and a rich, red tunic tied around the waist with cord. She let her hair grow long and kept it neatly brushed and smoothed back. She was pretty, which in this case helped Crowley to get into the good graces of the local Noble, Lý Khuê. 

Crowley was annoyed to find that darkened lenses weren't in fashion here and she was forced to use a steady stream of low grade magic to change her eyes. It took less focus now, but the steady use of demonic energy would alert Aziraphale to the demon’s whereabouts. Crowley took the chance. She blinked her honey brown eyes innocently at the Noble as they walked together, keeping a respectable distance apart. 

"It seems to me," she said softly, "that you would be better suited to lead."

"I agree," the Noble said gruffly. 

"There are others who share your misgivings. They could be valuable allies." Crowley had been to a number of villages already and planted the seeds of anarchy. This could end up being big. She needed something to keep Hell satisfied. She had always preferred a subtle touch, but demons like Hastur just didn't understand subtlety. Every few centuries she had to take credit for something major in order to keep this assignment on Earth. 

Crowley stopped suddenly. An easterly wind was blowing and it carried the scent of clean feathers and old parchment. She smiled shyly when the Noble turned to her and convinced him that there was nothing odd about her staying here and to carry on with his walk. He did. 

The scent was distant and not moving closer. Crowley turned on her heels and followed it. She didn’t want to see Aziraphale. Yes she did. She shouldn’t, but she did. She missed the angel terribly, though she would never admit it. She thought of his eyes every time she saw the clear blue sky and the clouds reminded her of his soft, downy hair. It was all very undemonic and she was ashamed of it. 

Her guilt over the Fall had slowly eased over the last few centuries. Acceptance of her demonic nature helped. She had realized that being a demon wasn’t a one-evil-suits-all situation. Crowley tempted and annoyed. She played long games of manipulation and let the humans do the hard work themselves. Humans have this brilliant thing called imagination which, by and large, is lacking in celestial beings. If Crowley wound them up and let them go they could carry out horrors demons could never dream up. She enjoyed the slow burn of anticipation and the satisfaction of a job well done. That satisfaction was necessary for her to carry out her demonic obligations. 

Truth be told she was starting to really enjoy herself. Humanity was so unpredictable. You never could tell what they would do in any given situation. Crowley had seen men murder over minor insults and she’d seen murderers forgiven by grieving mothers. There was no logic in it as far as Crowley could see. It all seemed to be a matter of emotion. She had a poor understanding of that. What she did understand was that spending so much time among humans was beginning to rub off on her. She found herself less rigidly compelled by her demonic nature and the little taste of freedom that afforded her was relished. 

She used that freedom now to go to the angel. Not to cause mischief, not to muck up whatever good he was trying to accomplish. She did it because of the tangy scent of blood in the air. She did it because she was concerned about him. She could admit that much to herself and only feel a little guilty about it. She’d really grown. 

She found Aziraphale in a large city near the center of the country. The angel was being held captive. Crowley used a bit of magic to sneak by the guards and let herself into the room. Aziraphale was slumped over and there was dried blood on his Western style clothing. The room was bare, no furniture or flooring, and it smelled damp and stale. Crowley sniffed disdainfully. 

Aziraphale didn’t react to her presence, which was worrisome. Crowley crouched in front of the angel and touched his face gingerly. “Angel?” He groaned softly and leaned into the touch. Crowley gently pried his eye open and observed the dilated pupil. She pulled his soiled clothing aside to see if he had any open wounds. Whatever injury had spilled the angel’s blood had already healed, thanks to his natural holy defense mechanism. “Aziraphale, wake up.” Crowley could, in theory, heal the concussion the angel seemed to be suffering, however the demonic energy required to do that would likely hurt him more than the mild injury was. 

Crowley cupped his face in both hands and lifted his head. “Zira?” she said softly. “Oi, angel, this is no place to nap.” 

“Ja…” Aziraphale mumbled. Crowley froze in place. She stopped breathing. That sounded like her name. Her angelic one. But there was no way Azirapahle could know that. Blue eyes blinked hazily at her. 

“Crowley?” 

She let go of the angel and stood, stepping back quickly. “Right, naturally. Who else?” she could feel her heart hammering at her ribs and tried to calm it through sheer force of will. She snapped and the ropes around the angel’s wrists vanished. “How did you manage to get yourself tied up here anyway?” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale got to his feet slowly. He looked disoriented and wobbly. Crowley did not reach to steady him. “I was looking for you, actually.” 

“What for?” she demanded. 

Aziraphale blinked. “Just,” he frowned. “Just to see you. Been a while.” 

Crowley gritted her teeth. “Yes, it has. Well, you managed to get yourself beaten up. Hope it was worth it.” She stepped to the angel’s side and looped an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

“It was,” Aziraphale said softly. 

“Was what?” Crowley asked, focusing on distracting the humans in the general vicinity. 

“It was worth it.” Crowley blushed, but gave no other sign of having heard him. Ridiculous angel. “What’d you do to your eyes?” he muttered. 

“Angel, just focus on walking. You’re like a newborn colt, for Hell’s sake.” Aziraphale looked down at his legs and did as he was told. He carefully put one foot in front of the other and followed Crowley to the outskirts of town. There was an abandoned cottage and Crowley waved the door open and maneuvered the angel inside. 

Once Aziraphale was settled comfortably on the bedding Crowley had miracled into existence, the demon stepped outside. She ran her long fingers through her hair and blessed under her breath. Aziraphale couldn’t remember her name. It wasn’t possible. Since when did the Almighty do that kind of shoddy work? He must have been saying something else and Crowley heard what she secretly wanted to. She should leave right now. Use a little magic to make sure no one would bother the angel and leave him here to clean himself up. She didn’t.


	8. Heaven

Heaven is pretty well organized. Crowley remembers the color coordinated outfits they used to wear to mark their choir with dismay. It was an embarrassing memory as most memories of Heaven were. She remembered how the choirs would intermingle, but never really mix. They all had vastly different responsibilities to attend to and it made it difficult to form bonds. This was generally true, but was not true of Crowley. She had made friends across all of the triads of angels. She had a lot of mixed feelings about that when she thought about it now. The choirs of angels are organized in threes (the Almighty has a thing about threes). There are three levels, each with three choirs. 

The first triad are the highest ranking and closest to Him. Surrounding the throne and singing the praises of the Almighty are the seraphim. They have six wings and a tendency to glow. Lucifer was a seraphim. Next are the cherubim. They serve as elite guardians for special locations. They have four wings and tend to carry flaming swords. They currently guard Eden and the arc of the covenant among other holy locations. The last in this hierarchy are the thrones. They are brilliantly intelligent and use that intellect to contemplate His creation. Sometimes they are made up of enormous burning rings covered in eyes that rotate continually. They only tend to take this form when working on a very difficult problem. Helps them think, they say. 

The second triad were less concerned with glorifying the Almighty directly and more focused on glorifying the Almighty through carrying out the plan for the universe. This involved more hands on work further away from the throne. The highest choir in this triad are dominions, so called because they hold dominion over all of the lower choirs. They govern the universe and reflect the light and orders of the higher triad and the Almighty. Next, settled directly in the middle of the hierarchy, are the virtues. Crowley was a virtue in another life. These angels are tasked with overseeing the creation and workings of various natural things including planets, seasons, elements and, in Crowley’s case, star systems. Besides this practical responsibility virtues are also tasked with reinforcing and strengthening the holy light in those facing a crisis of faith. The virtues have assistants in overseeing the natural order. These angels are the final choir in the second triad, the powers. Besides assisting in keeping the universe moving, powers are also warrior angels serving as a sort of elite fighting squad should the need for them arise (it did). 

The third triad are the youngest and tasked with overseeing the human world and serving humanity. The highest choir in this triad are principalities, the Princes of the third triad. Besides serving as commanders of the angelic armies, principalities are tasked with overseeing large swaths of humanity. Communities, kingdoms, states and parishes all have a principality looking over them. Aziraphale is a special case, in that he is directly tasked with looking over humanity as a whole and protecting the earth from demonic influence. No one is sure why this task fell to him just as no one is sure why he’s the only one that doesn’t return to heaven with regularity. Principalities are often associated with peaceful transitions of power. Next are archangels, who are tasked with communicating God's plan for mankind. They act as middle-men between the Heaven and the Earth and keep things running smoothly. It should be noted that archangel, little “a” and Archangel, big “A” are not the same. An archangel is a member of the third triad, an Archangel is a leader or chief among angels. Uriel is an archangel, Michael is an Archangel. It’s very confusing. Finally you have the angels. Heaven's gophers and soldiers. In times of celestial peace (relative peace) they usually serve as personal guardian angels for human beings. 

One’s demonic rank does not necessarily correspond to one's previous angelic rank. This was especially true in Crowley’s case. Crowley had been a Virtue in heaven. As a demon, well, Crowley was fairly certain the assignment on earth was meant to get her out of the way. She lacked the vindictive or sadistic streak that was necessary to be a really good demon. Maybe that’s why she had spent two days watching over a sleeping angel without so much as making a rude gesture at him. 

All of that time gazing at Aziraphale’s angelic face, feeling the low thrum of holy power surrounding the angel, it made Crowley remember. It made her reflect on everything she had lost. She thought about the friendships she had formed and how they had gone so wrong. She thought of questions and the answers she shouldn’t have sought. Mostly it made her think about Aziraphale, before the Fall. The younger angel had become so important to her in such a short amount of time (relatively, because it was impossible to quantify time before the creation of the world). She had a lot of regrets about the way things had played out with the angel. Seeing his face always brought those regrets to the forefront. She was certain that was the reason the angel was here on earth with her. The Almighty had devised their little game of good vs. evil here as a way of making Crowley suffer for her sins. 

When the angel’s glassy blue eyes finally fluttered open it was awkward. This was mainly because Crowley had been leaning over the angel at the time to check on him. Their noses were nearly touching. They stared at each other for a long time before Aziraphale smiled joyously and Crowley was forced to pull away to keep from being burned by the brilliance of it. 

“I was beginning to think you’d never wake up,” Crowley griped. She crossed her arms and schooled her face into the most serious expression she could. She only managed to look perturbed. “What happened?” 

“It’s hazy,” Aziraphale said, sitting slowly. "But, I believe I was stabbed.” 

“And beaten about the head?” Crowley suggested. “You’ve been unconscious for days.” 

“I guess so,” Aziraphale looked around the small room slowly, sheepishly. “Crowley,” he seemed puzzled. “Where are we?” 

“Some house,” she shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ve wiped you from the memory of every human in a fifty mile radius. You’re safe.”

Aziraphale looked at her, his eyes bright and soulful. He’d always had such an expressive face. Every emotion the angel felt crossed his features before he could even think about trying to hide them. Crowley wondered if he was even aware of it. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

“Don’t thank me,” she huffed. “Tell me why you were looking for me.” It couldn’t really just be that the angel missed her. That was ludicrous. He was delirious when he said it. Crowley had been convincing herself that she had imagined a lot of what the angel had muttered two days ago. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered nervously in front of him. “Well, I sensed you in the area and, well you know, it is my job to be sure you don’t get up to too much mischief. I suppose I just figured I ought to check up on you.” He smiled tightly. “I stopped here to get my bearings and, well I think perhaps I inadvertently insulted someone very important. I didn’t mean to, of course, but,” he gave a helpless little shrug and smiled at the demon. 

Crowley sighed and her expression softened. The idiot. He was only lucky it was humans doing the beating this time. For both of their sake's, they really should stay away from each other. “Well, I haven’t been up to anything more demonic than usual,” she said, standing and brushing the dust from her skirt. “Just doing what I can to incite a little anarchy. It’s too bloody boring ‘round here. What about you?” 

“Me?” Aziraphale got to his feet carefully. “Well, I’ve been in Africa. There’s a fascinating Dynasty developing there, in the north east. Quite brilliant people, really.” 

“Usually are,” Crowley nodded. “How do you feel?” 

“Well rested,” Aziraphale smiled. “I don’t normally sleep so much, or at all really.” 

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “I love to have a nap once in a while.” Crowley did love to sleep, it was the reason her bad dreams were such a blasted nuisance. “Fancy a walk?” 

“Love to,” Aziraphale beamed. Crowley turned to the door so she wouldn’t have to look at him. She had a lot of conflicting thoughts and feelings about the angel right now. Mostly her affection for him was conflicting with her demonic instincts. They walked for a long time, chatting amiably about nothing of consequence. Aziraphale seemed to be truly enjoying himself. It made Crowley’s heart ache. 

“Listen,” she said after an hour of small talk. “If we’re going to keep seeing each other like this we ought to come up with some ground rules. It’s dangerous, you know. If either of our sides saw us like this we’d be in a lot of trouble.” 

“Do you really think so?” Aziraphale asked sweetly. “I suppose it would be frowned upon. Though I could always explain that I was planting a seed of goodness in your evil heart, or distracting you from your infernal designs.” Crowley stared blankly at the angel. Aziraphale looked amused, “I’m joking, dear.” 

“Since when do you joke?” Crowley balked. 

“Oh, I rather enjoy a good joke,” Aziraphale blushed softly. “I do take your meaning though, dear. I doubt your side would be very understanding about this.” 

“Could say I was tempting an angel,” she grinned. Aziraphale’s blush deepened to a satisfying red. “I’m serious though, we need to come to an arrangement for how to handle these meetings. Especially if you’re going to continue to get yourself into these messes and need saving.” 

“You hardly saved me,” the angel scoffed. 

“Oh I didn’t?” she said, wide eyed. “I suppose you would have woken up, charmed your way out despite a massive concussion, and strolled out of there without getting yourself discorporated?” 

“Something like that,” the angel huffed stubbornly. “I can’t make a deal with you Crowley, you’re a demon!” 

“So?” 

“So, I can’t trust you to be fair with your terms,” he turned his bright gaze away from the demon and fluttered his hands nervously before clasping them in front of him. 

Crowley stared at the angel’s profile for a long time thinking, _“you’re the one that isn’t fair, angel”_. Still, she’d planted the seed of an idea and she knew Aziraphale would think it over. Maybe the next time they met they could discuss an arrangement more productively. It really would benefit them both to have some ground rules. Crowley was afraid that without some guidelines she was going to forget herself with the angel. She didn’t want to do anything to cause either of them more trouble than they had already landed in. A contract would give her terms to abide by. It would keep this professional, or at least allow them both to pretend it was all business. Aziraphale glanced at her and smiled softly. Crowley knew there was nothing professional about her relationship with the angel.


	9. Memory

Aziraphale had begun to associate the word perfection, almost exclusively, with the Virtue standing next to him. He was certain that this particular angel was the reason his whole blessed choir were called ‘the shining ones’. The brilliance of his eyes alone was breathtaking. 

“So,” the deep voice drawled, looking him over. “A commander?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded as his cheeks heated up. “The training has been rather rigorous. I believe I’m getting the hang of it though. They’ve given me a sword and everything!” 

“That’s good,” the amused golden eyes turned back to the path in front of them as the two strolled together. Aziraphale was in his armor, having just completed another set of drills. The chest plate was stiff and forced his posture to be as well. He’d been training since shortly after he’d met the other angel. He didn’t know how long ago that had been. Time was funny. He wasn’t certain where the other had been for all that time, but he was overjoyed to see him again. Even more so when the other had remembered his name and asked if Aziraphale would like to walk with him. He’d thought about the golden eyed angel a lot since they’d met. 

“What have you been up to?” he asked after several minutes of trying to work up the courage to do so. 

The dark haired angel craned his neck, looking towards the sky and giving Aziraphale a lovely view of his face in profile. “I was out there,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Helping to create a new solar system.” 

Aziraphale exhaled in wonder. “You create stars?”

The other laughed and the sound was breathy and delighted. “It isn’t all that impressive, little Prince.” 

“I think it is,” he said softly. That earned him a mildly embarrassed smile from the other. 

He smiled sweetly when he felt cool fingers brush his arm. “You’re rather impressive yourself. You've grown up since I last saw you."

It was true. Aziraphale was so eager to please and had been working so hard. He had learned a lot and was mildly embarrassed when he thought back to the way he had fawned over the other angel initially. He was grateful he had been understanding. 

Aziraphale had changed physically as well. He had been created with a body nearly as tall as the other angel's, but more robust. Whereas his companion was lean and svelte, Aziraphale was broad and solid. As a consequence of the military training his body was practically statuesque. He wasn't fond of it.

He blushed as the other angel's hand settled on his elbow, gently guiding him off of the narrow path and towards a nearby creek. "I do wonder," he mused, "what they're training you to fight." Aziraphale had wondered that himself, but he hadn’t asked. He was meant to follow orders, not question them. He had a number of questions and as a rule he kept them to himself. 

He looked down at the other angel's hand where it rested on his elbow. “Where are we going?” 

“Somewhere more quiet,” he said softly. Aziraphale thought the well worn path they had been walking was quiet. Still, he followed the other angel down to the bank of the creek. The older angel sat, stretching his long limbs and reclining. Aziraphale sat next to him, his back straight and shoulders back. 

“Are you nervous?” the golden eyes regarded him curiously. 

“No,” Aziraphale shook his head. He enjoyed spending time with the other. Just being in his presence made Aziraphale feel pleasantly warm. Still, he wondered why the older angel had taken an interest in him. As a virtue he was tasked with a number of responsibilities, one of which was carrying the burdens of others and helping them to overcome their weaknesses. A small, insecure part of Aziraphale wondered if he was weak. “Can I ask a question?” 

“Anything,” the low voice drawled. 

“What is it like?” he asked softly. “Being out there, away from Heaven?” 

The other made a thoughtful sound. “It’s nice.” 

“Don’t you miss it here?” Aziraphale couldn’t imagine being away from His presence. 

“Sure,” the other angel folded his arms behind his head and smiled. “But when I’m out there creating I know I’m doing it in His service. It’s quiet and dark out there. It’s…” he frowned softly, “it’s cold. But I like the feeling. I like being able to imagine what could be and make it real. I like filling the darkness with something beautiful.” 

“What does that feel like?” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. 

“Maybe one day I can show you,” he answered. He tugged at Aziraphale's arm until he lay on the soft grass, reclining with his head on the other's stomach. Aziraphale sighed as those long fingers carded gently through his hair. 

They stayed like that for a long time, speaking softly about everything that came to mind. Aziraphale asked about the star systems the other had seen. He asked about the training Aziraphale had been doing. Aziraphale was completely content. He liked the sound of the other's voice and the cool feel of his fingers. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the sensations. 

“There you are,” a commanding voice called. Aziraphale lifted his head and saw a light haired angel with six wings walking towards them. 

The Virtue got to his feet and pulled Aziraphale up after him. "I have to go," he said apologetically. Aziraphale frowned. "I'll come see you soon," he reassured. 

"Is that Lucifer?"

"Please," the other said, looking over his shoulder at the seraphim. He almost sounded urgent, although his smile was patient and calm. Aziraphale nodded slowly and squeezed the other's hand before turning back towards the trail. 

He could hear the voice of the seraphim as he departed and something in the tone made him uneasy.


	10. Guilt

Crowley and Aziraphale had reached what they referred to as “the Arrangement” in 1020. It was quicker than Crowley expected. The agreement was simple, little more than a non-interference policy at first. Crowley wouldn’t do anything too awful and Aziraphale wouldn’t try anything too holy. At least not without first contacting the other. Crowley might track down the angel and explain that Hell was on his case and he had to start a cult. Aziraphale would then spread some religious ecstasy to keep things even. Neither of them won any major battles, neither of them lost face either. 

Key to the Arrangement's success was the promise not to target each other. Aziraphale had been adamant about adding the condition. The demon wouldn’t try to tempt the angel and Aziraphale wouldn't try to save Crowley. Without that piece the entire Arrangement would fall apart, Aziraphale insisted. 

They had recently expanded the terms, agreeing that they would help each other out once in a while. If Aziraphale was going to North Africa to spread some good, he’d perform a temptation or two while he was there. Crowley was popping by Japan to make some trouble? He’d perform a few miracles while he was at it. It satisfied both sides and kept things even. It also cut down on travel. Aziraphale had been nervous about this aspect of the agreement initially. He had worried about what could happen to an angel who performed temptations, not to mention the lying. Crowley was sure that no one would even notice as long as they kept it simple. Heaven and Hell were satisfied with their progress and each side was grudgingly impressed with the other. And if Crowley used the Arrangement as an excuse to see the angel once in a while, who would be the wiser? 

Crowley decided that the end of the third crusade was as good an excuse as any to see Aziraphale. He told himself that the increasing frequency of his visits to the angel didn’t mean anything. He was getting to be a pretty good liar. 

He found the angel in Venice, but he immediately knew that something was off. Aziraphale was walking alone through a mostly abandoned park and he was drunk. Very drunk. Crowley approached him quietly and fell into step beside the angel, who seemed oblivious to him. 

“Angel,” he said calmly. 

Aziraphale glanced at him and smiled wryly. “Ah, it’s you,” he kept moving, despite his unsteady stride. Then he frowned and turned his head to glare at Crowley. “I’m well aware that I’m an angel, dear boy, why do you insist on calling me that?” 

Crowley sputtered. If he were completely honest with himself he called Aziraphale angel as a reminder that he was not Fallen. That they were separated by Aziraphale’s angelic nature. That he had to keep his distance. “‘Ssss just a nickname.” 

Aziraphale didn’t look convinced. “But it isn’t! I am an angel, you know,” he had a pained look on his face and he whirled to face Crowley fully. “An angel who has been doing very un-angelic things because I let your, your…” he threw his hands in the air, “your charms beguile me into that blasted Arrangement!” 

Crowley blinked rapidly, which was exceedingly unusual for him. “Aziraphale, what happened?” 

All of the bluster seemed to drain out of him and the angel slumped his shoulders and sighed helplessly. “Nothing,” he grumbled, “everything, I don’t know.” He looked helplessly at Crowley and whispered, “what kind of angel am I?” Crowley stepped towards him instinctively. He wanted to reach out and touch him. Wanted to say the right words to take the pain out of those blue eyes. He made himself stop. 

“You’re a brilliant angel, Aziraphale,” he said earnestly. “You’re the best one they’ve got. You wouldn’t be feeling guilty about this if you weren’t.” 

“Guilty,” Aziraphale breathed. “If I were a good angel I wouldn’t have anything to feel guilty about.” 

“Oh, Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed. He should have known Aziraphale would have a hard time with this. Doing a miracle was a small thing to him. He was an angel once and knew what it felt like to do good works. Even though it grated against his demonic nature it was something he could manage. It was different for Aziraphale. “Let’s find somewhere to talk.” 

Aziraphale looked the demon over suspiciously. “Why? So you can try to tempt me further?” 

“No tempting,” Crowley raised his palms towards the angel. “That’s againssst the rulessss.” 

“You’re hissing,” Aziraphale snapped. Crowley blushed and bit his forked tongue. He was terribly insecure about his little speech impediment. There was only so much of his serpentine nature he could suppress, especially when he was under a lot of stress. 

Aziraphale looked sorry immediately. “Why should an arbitrary rule mean anything to you? You’re a demon, you aren’t supposed to follow rules.” 

“It’sss not arbitrary if it’s your rule, angel.” Crowley felt wretched. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso to keep from fidgeting and hiked his shoulders up past his ears in a sullen shrug. “I don’t break your rules,” he added softly. 

Aziraphale’s expression flitted between concern, frustration, and sorrow before settling on exhaustion. “There’s an inn nearby I’ve been staying at,” he said, turning away from the demon. “We can talk there.” 

Crowley followed the angel silently. He hadn’t considered the pain performing temptations might have caused Aziraphale. He’d been selfish, which was his nature, but he’d never meant to do it at the angel’s expense. He was chewing at his lip and hissing softly to himself and he really hoped the angel couldn’t hear it. He had been in such a good mood a few minutes ago. It was shameful how easily Aziraphale could affect him. He clearly didn’t have as strong a handle on his feelings for the angel as he had convinced himself he did. 

He followed the angel into a small and intimate room in a dimly lit inn. Yes, he had gotten too comfortable and it was putting them both in danger. He needed to pull back, get a grip. He needed to stay away from the angel before he hurt him. It was already too late to stop himself from being hurt. 

The angel sat on the narrow bed in the corner and Crowley propped himself on the very edge of the wooden chair across the room. He was still biting his lip and he was pretty sure he was starting to taste blood. Aziraphale broke the silence with a weary sigh. “Dear, do stop that.” 

Crowley met the angel’s stormy eyes and curled in on himself. “You know, if the temptations hurt, you can ssstop,” he offered softly. “I’m sssorry I didn’t fully consider the implications when I asked you to ssstart helping with them…” 

“It doesn’t hurt, exactly,” Aziraphale was watching the demon closely, studying his face. “It gives me this feeling I can’t quite describe. It’s as though there’s a pit in my chest that is opening up and stealing the air from my lungs. It’s uncomfortable, and I feel so terrible afterwards. Is that what it’s like for you?” 

“Not exactly,” Crowley leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “You know how performing a miracle gives you that little burst of divine love?” It had felt like that before the Fall, he didn’t imagine it had changed. Now, as a demon performing a miracle felt like he was holding something too hot against his chest and if he didn’t drop it he would be burned. Aziraphale nodded and a little smile passed across his face. “Well, performing temptations for a demon is nothing like that. If I don’t use my infernal powers they sort of back up. It starts to feel like there’s a pressure behind my sternum and it’s very painful. The only way to relieve the pressure is to use my powers. Otherwise I start to feel like I’m going to burst.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to feel bad, angel,” he stared at his feet. 

“I know you don’t, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled softly. “And I very much appreciate your concern.” 

Crowley blanched. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered, “please.” He lifted his eyes and looked at the angel. He was fooling himself thinking this could work out. They were still on opposite sides and there would be literal hell to pay if anyone found out what was going on. Aziraphale would be in trouble. Crowley wouldn’t just be killed he’d be destroyed. He didn’t care. He looked at his feet again and tugged at his hair. If it meant that he could keep stealing these quiet moments with the angel he would risk whatever Below could throw at him. Aziraphale was too pure of an angel to Fall. Didn’t the whole flaming sword deal prove that? Besides, the angel could blame him and seek forgiveness. Isn’t that how it was supposed to work? 

“Crowley, are you alright, dear?” the demon startled when he felt a warm hand on his cheek. He looked into the angel’s concerned eyes and felt himself flush. He placed his hand over the angel's, holding it in place, and leaned into the touch. 

"Don't do any more tempting," Crowley said softly. "I don't want you to do anything that's unpleasant for you." He let go of Aziraphale’s hand and shuddered as the angel’s fingertips brushed over his cheek before pulling away. "This is our arrangement, angel. We set the terms."

"It's not fair of me to put all of the risk on you," Aziraphale stood and clasped his hands in front of him. "And, truly, the temptations are only part of what's bothering me."

“What is it, Zira?” Crowley stood so that he was face to face with the angel. 

Aziraphale worried at his lower lip, he opened and closed his mouth, he twisted his hands, then something happened that Crowley had never witnessed in over 5000 years. Aziraphale's face went still and his eyes went icy with resolve. "No," he gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. "No, it's not worth talking about."

"Angel," Crowley reached out and Aziraphale stepped back, just out of his reach. 

"I'm sorry to have worried you. I think perhaps you'd better go now." Crowley met the angel's eyes and for the first time since time began he had no idea what Aziraphale was feeling. 

"Aziraphale, please, just let me-" he reached for the angel again and it was like a punch to the face when his hand was pushed away. 

"I want you to go, Crowley." 

So he did.


	11. Traitor

Crowley had seen Aziraphale occasionally since the disastrous evening in Venice. The Arrangement stayed in place and Crowley continued to perform little miracles for the angel. He was too nervous to ask if Aziraphale was still doing temptations. Aziraphale had been cordial but distant with him since then. Part of Crowley felt like he should be grateful to the angel for establishing limitations between them when he himself wasn’t capable of doing it. He respected the angel too much to push at his boundaries with any real intent. Aziraphale had seemed distant and distracted. Crowley wished he knew what was bothering the angel, but he didn’t ask. This lasted for the duration of the thirteenth century. 

Crowley had a tendency to internalize things. His Fall, his treatment in Hell, his rejection by Aziraphale, even his failure to pass for human due to his eyes. In his darker moments, he took it all as proof of his relative insignificance and personal failings. He tried not to think about Aziraphale. Tried not to think about all of the times he had forbidden himself to reach for the angel and the rejection when he had finally done it. What did he think was going to happen? Obviously Aziraphale couldn’t stand to be touched by a demon. 

He had lurked on the outskirts of many of the battles of the crusades over the past hundred years. Below was very impressed with him. He was exceedingly disturbed by what he had seen and he drank a lot. He had started working smaller schemes and interacting on more personal levels with humans. Dark lenses were easier to come by now, and Crowley wore them at all times. It helped him to blend in more easily without having to magically obscure his eyes. This allowed him to interact with humans in a more sustained way. The personal interactions helped to keep his loneliness at bay, although he couldn’t maintain one persona for longer than a decade without people becoming suspicious. 

Crowley was working as a cobbler and he was rather good at it. He made the most fashionable shoes in the country and the upper crust would frequent his little shop. He’d drink wine with nobles and perform a few temptations while he was at it. Things were going well until the mid fourteenth century. Crowley hated the fourteenth century. It smelled awful, no matter where he went. He had been enjoying Florence so much before it started to rot and die around him. Hell thought it was his doing, but given the tactics Above had been using he had his own suspicions. He accepted the commendation anyway. 

He could feel the presence of the angel somewhere in the city. He didn't particularly want to see him. He was sure Aziraphale was busy answering prayers and healing those he was able to. He was sure the angel was suffering from the sight of so many dead and dying. The plague was horrific in every sense of the word. People were dying by the thousands and it was a torturous, slow, and painful process. Aziraphale cared about humans and the widespread misery that the plague was spreading would surely be affecting him. Crowley couldn’t help, and he was sure that his presence wouldn’t comfort the angel. He refrained from using any demonic energy and hoped that Aziraphale wouldn’t notice him. He only felt a little guilty about it. 

This went on for months. Crowley would feel the divine energy spiking in an area of the city that was shut down due to plague and he would slink across the city and hide like the cowardly snake he was. At first he couldn’t really say why he felt the need to hide. It didn’t occur to him until one afternoon when he caught a glimpse of the angel attending an ailing woman near the mouth of a filthy alley. He could feel the holy energy the angel was emanating and beneath it was a holy fury Crowley had not felt since just before the Fall. It made him break out in a cold sweat and shake uncontrollably. 

Crowley left Florence and went to Munich. He was desperate to avoid the memories the encounter had dredged up and so he was accompanying a rambunctious group of revelers who had themselves convinced that they were immune to the plague. They believed this based on desperation and denial. Crowley knew they were doomed and felt a sort of kinship with them. They were all screwed. He was sloppy drunk and draped over an auburn haired young man’s shoulders telling a raucous story when the angel arrived in the pub. 

Aziraphale looked haggard. His eyes were bloodshot and watery as he walked towards the group of loudly laughing men and seized Crowley by the collar. The demon allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, but froze when he got a good look at the angel's face. Aziraphale grabbed the back of his neck and shoved Crowley away from the table. 

"Oi, angel, take it easy!" 

"Be quiet," the angel commanded as he dragged the demon into the street. Crowley waved an arm behind him, ensuring that no one would notice anything strange happening. He hated to have historical records about him. 

"What's the idea?!" Crowley pulled himself from the angel's grip. He was starting to tremble and stumbled away from the angel. He was unsteady on his feet and not just because of the alcohol. 

"Are you responsible for this?" Aziraphale's voice was low and steady. Crowley made the effort to sober up. The angel's energy was crackling with holy fury. It was burning Crowley’s skin being so close to it. He wanted to step further away, but was pinned in place by the icy blue stare. "Are you behind this illness, demon? Do you have any idea how many are dying? What's happening to them? The boils, the bleeding," Aziraphale's hands were shaking. "How can you sit here drinking when half the population is sick and dying? Did you do this?" Crowley slowly removed the lenses from his eyes and met the angel's gaze. 

"No."

"Liar!" 

Crowley didn't back away as the angel stepped towards him. "Aziraphale, I wouldn't do this. Not to so many, not to kids." The blue eyes were softly glowing and Crowley knew he wasn't hearing him. Aziraphale was not in his right mind. He was overcome with the holy rage that infected angles in times of crisis. It manifested when an angel was exposed to dangerously high levels of infernal energy. Crowley had only seen it once before. The fine tremors in his limbs were getting worse. He lifted his hands slowly and held his palms towards the angel, hoping that the gesture would be enough to stop him. 

"You're a demon. You're a liar. You're a," Aziraphale shut his eyes and ground out the words, "you're a traitor!"

Crowley didn't know there were any fragile parts left in him, but he felt something break. "Zira, no." He let his hands drop uselessly and stepped away from the angel. The holy fury and grief were spilling off of Aziraphale in waves. Crowley had always known that the angel was capable of incinerating him with enough divine energy and ending him completely, but not until this moment had the danger ever felt real. 

"Don't," Aziraphale materialized a sword in one hand. "Don't you dare," he was crying. Crowley thought of the angel in his armor when _it_ happened. He remembered the misery in his eyes as he wielded it back then. He remembered the angel staring at Crowley with an expression of absolute heartbreak. The demon was overcome with pity and shaking uncontrollably. 

All Crowley could do was stare into those blue eyes as the angel drove the blade into his chest. Everything felt cold. Aziraphale's expression was tortured as Crowley closed his hands around the broad blade. He tried to speak but blood spilled over his lips when he opened his mouth. His knees buckled and Aziraphale caught him under his arms and held him against his chest. Crowley reached a bloody hand towards the angel’s tear-streaked face and smiled. Everything went black.


	12. Hell

Crowley hated spending time in Hell. He was treated like an anomaly, like a freak. The other demons didn’t trust him. Said they could smell the human on him and he had a tendency to carry the vague scent of divine influence. He said that in order to thwart holy designs he sometimes had to venture to sanctified spaces. He was developing an immunity to it, he explained. He could do the most devilish work in a nunnery or a church, he claimed. His superiors accepted this because there was no way to confirm or refute it. 

The paperwork for a new body took an eternity. Crowley first had to file three separate reports about what had happened to his body. This required a slight bit of exaggeration, but the best lies are based on truth. He was spreading the plague North when the angel Aziraphale had caught up to him. There had been a fight, the angel had gotten the drop on him. He had sacrificed his body in order to escape the holy assault and avoid permanent destruction. It was a believable story. He then had to explain it to four separate demons and finally he was scheduled to meet with Beelzebub. 

Crowley wanted to see Aziraphale. He desperately needed to know if the angel was alright. Aziraphale had destroyed his body, but in doing so the angel had spared him. Crowley knew that the angel had been compelled to destroy him by the holy spirit. The effort it must have taken Aziraphale to contain the divine energy was immense. This had to be what was bothering the angel back in Venice. Was it bubbling to the surface all of that time? Was it a reaction to Crowley’s frequent presence in his life? It could be that the repeated exposure to Crowley had weakened Aziraphale’s control. Whatever it was, he needed to know that the angel was okay. 

When his new body was ready Crowley was brought before Lord Beelzebub to receive instructions. His superiors Below were aware of his past with the angel. It was natural they would begin suspecting his cohabitation of the earth with the only angel he cared about had compromised him. Crowley often wondered if being so close to Aziraphale was a special punishment just for him. This was the reason, Beelzebub explained, that when he returned to earth he would have to prove his loyalty to Hell. He would have to kill the angel. 

“You can’t allow this act to go unanswered,” Beelzebub said, bored. Beelzebub had been a seraph in heaven and was the first to fall, besides Lucifer. They didn’t like dealing with lower demons and had a tendency to look with special derision on Crowley. 

“Isn’t eye for an eye a bit more their style?” Crowley tried lamely. 

“Don’t be pathetic,” they sneered. “Show a little pride, Crowley. Show a little wrath. Sin, for Hell’s sake.” Crowley nodded mutely and went to claim his new body. 

It was still the bloody fourteenth century when he rose from Hell. He really didn't want to hurt the angel, but, well, being a demon wasn't meant to be pleasurable. He spent a few years stirring up tensions between France and England. He figured it would be easier to get France to make a move, and whispered temptations to a few choice men. Wouldn't it be better for that territory to be under the French King's dominion? Didn't it make more sense for an established and refined people to wield the power? Weren't the English insolent?

It didn’t take long before battles were brewing and all he had to do was wait. The demonic influence was thick in the air. Aziraphale would be drawn to it. If he was lucky it would happen quickly and he wouldn’t have to stick around to see the actual fighting. He wasn’t lucky. The angel must have wanted to avoid him very badly. 

Crowley was lurking near a battlefield, watching the carnage with a humorless smile. This is what he was supposed to be doing up here. Sowing the seeds of sin. Showing the angels and Him what human nature really looked like. This is what was expected of him. He knew Below was watching him. He had sensed Hastur on more than one occasion in the last few years, lurking just out of sight and watching Crowley plant his temptations and carefully coax them into violent fruition. If he hadn’t hated the work so much he might have been proud of himself. He could do so much damage if he ever put his mind to it. He was being tested and if he didn’t pass it would spell disaster for himself and, likely, for Aziraphale. 

He watched the fighting with a steady gaze, not allowing himself to look away from what he had caused. Aziraphale's wings beat gently as he landed beside the demon. "Crowley,” his voice was soft and hesitant. 

He didn't respond. He could feel the gentle pulsation of angelic energy coming from the other. It grated on his new skin like a fresh sunburn. He let his demonic energy out in tendrils of power that pushed the other a few steps back. He felt tainted in a way he couldn’t fully understand as he continued to watch the battle. He wouldn't look at the angel. He couldn't see whatever expression was in those familiar eyes or he’d lose his nerve. "Took you long enough."

A beat of silence. "All of this was to lure me out?" Aziraphale’s voice was pained. Crowley made a non-committal sound and held out his hand. A thin, black dagger materialized in his grip. The angel inhaled sharply. Crowley sensed Hastur nearby. They were being watched, he had to be careful. 

"I know what you did," Crowley said quietly. “It was dangerous, reckless.” 

"I know," Aziraphale whispered back. 

"Hell has certain expectations of me," he spoke in low tones, not sure if Aziraphale could even hear him. "And it's not that I want to please them. It's just that the consequences if I don't are," he lifted his eyes to the angel's. Aziraphale's bright eyes were brimming with emotion, concern and something else the demon didn’t dare try to name. Crowley looked away. 

"Can I ask a question,” Aziraphale materialized a dagger of his own. Crowley was sure he could sense Hastur, too. He was playing along. 

"Anything," Crowley said quietly. 

"I've been thinking a lot lately, about before." Crowley frowned and finally turned to fully face the angel. "Before the Fall," he met Crowley's eyes as the demon’s head snapped up. "I feel like there’s something important I’m not remembering. Something vital. I’ve been getting these flashes for a long time now, it’s,” he grimaced, “it’s what I wanted to say back in Venice.” 

"Don't," Crowley closed the distance between them and reached his left arm out, grabbing the angels wrist lightly. "Aziraphale, He blocked those memories for a reason. Don't go prodding at them." 

"It feels so important," the angel insisted, yanking his arm away. “I can remember seeing Lucifer, just once. But, I wasn’t alone when it happened. I know there was someone with me, but I can’t remember anything about them.” Aziraphale was searching Crowley’s face, his eyes pleading. 

"Forget it," Crowley begged, stepping closer to the other until the angel was nearly in his arms. "It's better if you do." He slipped the thin blade under Aziraphale's ribs.

The angel's mouth fell open in surprise. “If you remember it will only hurt you, angel,” Crowley held him up as Aziraphale slumped against his chest. He cradled the blond’s head in his left hand and let his fingers card through the soft hair. "I know you won’t believe me,” he twisted the dagger and placed a soft kiss to the side of his head as the angel’s breathing slowed. “It's better this way."


	13. Recognition

Aziraphale hadn’t been in Heaven for a very long time. It was nice being enveloped in the divine glow and he didn’t really mind waiting for his body to be ready. His report had been filed and was being reviewed. He would have to meet with Michael before he returned to Earth. According to his report, he had been intervening in the machinations of the demon Crowley and had been unable to fend off the fiends blade. It was true, he just left out the part where Crowley had slid the blade between his ribs with such efficiency that he hadn’t really felt it. It had been largely painless. 

He was walking down an old trail and watching the other angels bustling about. He really ought to pop back up more often. He felt refreshed, as though a thin veneer of tarnish had been polished away from his soul. So much of what had troubled his mind over the past few centuries seemed distant now. He wondered if his absence from Heaven was the reason he had become so troubled.

The memories at the periphery of his consciousness held at least part of the blame. He had remembered having one interaction with Lucifer and, through thinking about that brief encounter, he could almost but not quite remember someone else. It felt vital that he remember, but the knowledge was forbidden. He tried to stop thinking about it. He told himself to be content with the memories he did have. That may have been easier if his memories of Heaven before the Fall weren't so, well, lonely. 

He still might have managed to push the thoughts aside if he didn’t feel the gentle ache of affectionate caresses whenever he let himself drift to sleep. Sleep wasn’t necessary, of course. However, extended time on Earth had a way of leaving one drained and sleep helped alleviate that. He would always wake with the feeling of fingers brushing through his hair and the impression of a voice near his ear. The memories would fade the instant he became aware of them. 

Aziraphale came to a fork in the trail and paused. He kept thinking about Crowley’s troubled expression just before he’d stabbed him. The demon had done him a kindness. He would be embarrassed to hear Aziraphale say it. After what he’d done to Crowley there was no reason for him to treat Aziraphale with anything close to tenderness, but that’s the only word the angel could apply to the way the demon had discorporated him. He hadn’t realized he had stepped off of the path until he came to the bank of a crystal clear creek. He sat by the water and hugged his knees. 

He felt bone deep remorse for what had happened with the demon. Crowley wasn’t to blame for the worries that had been eating at Aziraphale and he wasn’t to blame for the plague. If the demon were capable of that kind of cruelty Aziraphale would never have voluntarily spent time with him. If there was one thing Aziraphale knew about the demon it was that Crowley genuinely liked humanity and he wouldn’t do anything to threaten them. The plague had been so devastating and Aziraphale had spent so much time in the middle of it. The sight of so many withering away under the horrid illness was haunting. The silence when they had begged God for mercy was deafening. It had sparked something in him that the angel couldn’t control. 

The fierce burning of the holy fire within him had been growing steadily for years and it demanded an outlet. He hadn’t meant for it to be Crowley. He had thought that the demon might somehow know how to help. He recalled the way Crowley had described his infernal powers building up and hoped that the demon may know of some way for Aziraphale to relieve the pain in his chest. No matter how many miraculous healings he performed it didn’t feel any better. When he had laid eyes on the demon the pressure in his chest had quadrupled. It was as if his angelic nature recognized the demon as a target and he couldn’t disengage. He felt awful about the things he had said. He had been losing control of his divine aura and he had seen Crowley’s skin beginning to blister under the onslaught. Destroying the demon’s body was the only thing he could think of to make it all stop. 

Aziraphale sighed and laid back on the soft grass. He had to admit to himself that he liked the demon. Crowley was the only constant in his life and while he had attributed his enjoyment of the demon’s company to that fact it was no longer enough to explain the affection he felt for the demon. Crowley was, deep down, a good person. It was a major failing as a demon and Crowley was in a lot of danger because of it. It didn’t stop him from doing nice things, and not just for Aziraphale. He’d caught the demon doing any number of little acts of kindness over the millennia. He’d always given Aziraphale a meaningful look and pretended nothing had transpired. It was terribly endearing. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and let the warmth soak into his skin. The sound of the water moving was soothing. He needed to find Crowley when he got back to Earth and apologize. Maybe he could treat the demon to a fine wine and a good meal? He smiled at the thought of the demon in a nice restaurant, relaxed, cheeks flushed from drink. It had been so long since they had just enjoyed each other’s company. He missed it. 

He was starting to doze and sighed with contentment. He would try to find somewhere quiet where Crowley could remove his glasses. He preferred to see his eyes while they spoke. The demon really had a very expressive face. It was nice. While the serpentine eyes were upsetting to humans, Aziraphale had always found them pleasantly warm. They had a lovely honey quality, especially in the sunlight. It was something he hadn’t seen in thousands of years. Maybe they could go somewhere warm, somewhere near the ocean. Crowley could due with some sunlight, he had gotten so pale. These little daydreams weren’t likely to happen, but he indulged them anyway. He found he rather liked the image of Crowley relaxing in the sunlight, golden eyes gazing back at Aziraphale’s, a smile on his handsome face. 

Aziraphale saw a flash of sun kissed skin and golden eyes. He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. The image was crystal clear. Black hair blowing in a gentle breeze, golden eyes filled with amusement and love. Aziraphale sat up and stared at the clear water. It was flooding back and he couldn’t stop it. The day he had met the other angel, the gentle touches while they talked together. He remembered the way the virtue had carded his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and hummed to him while they dozed on the creek bed. 

His heart was hammering wildly. He bit the inside of his cheek and hugged his knees tightly. He thought of the demon’s eyes all those years ago when Aziraphale had told him that he was forgotten in Heaven. He had thought the pain was caused by a general sense of loss. Now it made sense. The angel forced himself to steady his breathing. It was so much to take in and his head was pounding. They had been friends. More than friends? It was still foggy and he couldn't remember his name, but there was no mistaking his face. The person he has been dreaming of, the person he had been with in Heaven the day he had seen Lucifer, it was Crowley.


	14. Reunited

It was nearly the end of the sixteenth century and Crowley was in North America on a little island with about a hundred intrepid settlers. When she’d heard about the expedition to the “New World” (Crowley had been checking in with the various civilizations on the continent for millennia) she simply had to tag along. It wasn’t going well. They were woefully ill prepared for life on the island and were already running out of food. Crowley didn’t want to stick around to watch the fall out of the ill conceived voyage. She was sitting on the beach and trying to decide where to go next.

She had been female for a few decades now, and while she felt it fit the way she was feeling she was starting to think that neither gender were exactly right. She’d met a few interesting humans in bars that had shared some very philosophical discussions about the nature of gender with her. Turns out a lot of humans felt the same way, which was oddly comforting. Maybe Crowley just didn’t fit into any kind of dichotomy. Maybe that was okay. 

She had her black hair tucked into a white bonnet and wore a long black dress that wasn’t particularly flattering. She wasn’t crazy about the fashion, but the shoes were nice. She had a smart little pair of black boots with a one inch heel that she rather fancied. She was clicking the pointed toes of her shoes together and humming softly to herself as she thought. She smelled old parchment and felt a light breeze pick up in the East. She smiled softly but didn’t otherwise acknowledge the angel’s approach. 

Aziraphale landed quietly beside her and folded his wings away. Crowley waited until the angel had settled onto the sand to greet him. “Been back on earth long?” 

“A while,” he said. “I thought I ought to keep my distance for a bit, didn’t want to cause you any trouble.” Crowley turned to look at him. Aziraphale was dressed in an elegant cream colored outfit. He had a silk shirt, vest, and jacket. The layers had to be uncomfortably warm. His legs looked good in the silk tights, though. Crowley preferred long pants or skirts. She had thin legs that she just didn't particularly like to show off. Aziraphale's legs were shapely and well muscled. The angel had lost his military build and, perhaps due to his taste for wine and sweets, he had developed a more plush figure. Crowley found it very attractive. 

She smiled wryly. “Oh, they were watching me for a few decades.” She leaned back onto her elbows and looked at the setting sun. “But most demons don't enjoy spending time on earth. They just don't get humans, you know?" she smiled playfully. "Don't worry, I’ve managed to get back into Hell’s, well I shouldn’t say good graces, but you know what I’m getting at.” 

“I do,” Aziraphale sat stiffly, but smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Were you worried about me, angel?” her smile morphed into a smirk. 

"What if I was?" He grinned back and Crowley's cheeks flushed. She couldn't remember ever seeing a grin on his sweet face. The effect was very alluring. She tried not to think about how much she had missed his face or how much she had needed to see his smile to replace the look of surprise and confusion when she'd stabbed him. 

"Well," she said uncertainly, "I suppose you would have to. It's in your nature to feel love and concern for all of creation, isn't it?" She knew that wasn't true of all angels, but Aziraphale had always felt a certain innocent affection for everything. In many ways he exemplified what an angel ought to be. 

"Yes," Aziraphale nodded. "But you're a special case, my dear. My affection and concern for you aren't just compulsory." He sounded genuine. His eyes were shining in the twilight and she had to look away. 

"Careful, angel, someone might start to think you like me," she maintained her casual position out of principal. She was not fidgeting or digging the toe of her boot into the sand. 

"Yes, they might think the same of you," Aziraphale sighed softly. 

Crowley laughed and smiled widely, “Oh angel, it’s a little too late to stop them thinking that.” 

Aziraphale smiled back. He sighed and leaned back onto his forearms. Crowley watched him recline and smiled to herself. Aziraphale was rarely at ease, it was nice to see. He watched the waves lapping at the shore for several minutes before speaking again. "I wanted to apologize for Munich. And Venice. I didn't mean to hurt you dear, I feel terrible about it all," he looked meaningfully at her. 

"Nah," Crowley said dismissively. "It all worked out. Besides, we're even after what I did." Honestly, she was thrilled that things had played out as well as they did. She had been worried that Hell wouldn’t take a discorporation as enough of a sign of loyalty. Well, a discorporation and several small wars. 

"I hardly think it's even," Aziraphale stared at her. "My dear, we both know you had no choice." 

"Always a choice, angel," she countered. She met his eyes steadily. "There is always a choice. That's why I'm here and not Above." She tilted her head and turned back to the darkening horizon. "We weren't meant to have free will, but we made the choice to rebel. If it wasn't a choice then what are we being punished for?" 

"It's not for us to know," he sighed hopelessly. "It's ineffable." 

She made a dismissive sound and stood up. "Ineffability can take a great flying leap." 

Aziraphale stood and fluttered his manicured hands uncomfortably. "I do wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"I'm a demon."

"You weren't always," his tone was so full of meaning that Crowley paused and stared into his crystal blue eyes. He was worrying his lower lip and his face was furrowed in distress. Crowley thought it was a good look, but she worried about what was causing it. "I, when I was in Heaven something happened."

She removed the lenses from her eyes to better see him in the dark. He kept glancing up as if he expected someone to drop out of the clouds. "Well, don't leave me in suspense, angel." 

"I realized," he swallowed. "Rather I was thinking, lots of time for it with the wait, you know," he clasped his hands firmly in front of him. "I was thinking about how you had discorporated me and what we had been discussing just before," the angel startled when Crowley made a sharp, distressed sound. 

"I told you to forget all that," she hissed. The angel looked taken aback as Crowley stepped into his personal space. "It's ancient history, leave it alone, angel. Whatever you think you want to remember can only bring you trouble." 

"How can remembering get me into trouble?" his voice was so innocently curious it made her chest hurt. 

"He removed the memories for a reason," she huffed. "You're an angel, don't you think going against His wishes must be bad?" 

Aziraphale frowned and straightened his shoulders. "I don't think it would be possible to remember if it were truly wrong." 

"He put the bloody tree in the middle of the garden," she said slowly. "I think He enjoys planting temptations and seeing what happensss." Aziraphale paled at the blasphemy and she made an effort to reel in her anger. "Just let it be. There's nothing you've forgotten that'sss worth the risssk to remember."

Aziraphale's mouth opened and closed mutely. "How do you know?" he asked after a moment of stunned, tense silence. 

She took a step away from him and let out a frustrated growl. "Damned stubborn angel, why won't you just trussst me?!"

"Dear," he grabbed her arm to stop her from turning away. "Please, tell me how you know."

"Because there is no one among the Fallen that you cared for, angel. There is no one you would miss and nothing worth remembering." She tried to keep her voice steady and did not look away from his eyes. The way Aziraphale was staring at her made her nauseous. His eyes were watery and his face was pinched as though in pain. 

“Crowley-”

“I don’t want to argue,” she said, almost desperately. “Let’s go back to my place,” she looked down at the angel’s hand around her wrist. “We can sit by the fire and talk. They’ve made this alcohol out of corn, it’s awful, but it does the trick.” 

Aziraphale let go of her arm and seemed to be searching her face. “Aren’t they puritans?” he asked finally. 

“Most of them,” Crowley smiled. “But when everything starts to go to Hell people forget their sillier moral compunctions.” 

Aziraphale still looked like he had something on his mind, but he nodded. “Alright, dear, I suppose I could give it a try.” 

“Great,” she felt the relief wash over her. Aziraphale couldn’t remember who she was back then. It would be dangerous for him and it would change everything about the relationship they had built since then. She liked this strange friendship she had with the angel. They had both put real effort into becoming friends this time around and she didn’t want to compromise it for anything. It meant too much to her. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale said, walking close beside her. “I must ask, why ever did they think Roanoke Island was a good place to make their colony?” 

“Hell if I know angel,” she shook her head. “It’s certainly not going well for them.”


	15. Meeting

Beelzebub did not like rising to the earth. Perhaps, ironically, because the whole place felt beneath them. The Prince of Hell was leaning against a wall near the mouth of a filthy alley beside a raucous pub. They stared at the night sky with a dull expression. Crowley was more of a pain than they were worth. No, if that were true then they wouldn’t be having this blasted meeting. Crowley, for as odd of a demon as he was, did Hell a great many vital services. He was something of an ambassador to earth and he introduced a great many human innovations to Hell. Their whole filing system was Crowley’s doing. He was simply far too civilized for Hell. Beelzebub supposed that could come as a result of the time spent among humans. Over 5500 years in human civilization might be enough to take the edge off of any demon. It was certainly mind-numbingly dull. Frankly, they needed to keep Crowley around because no one else would do the bloody job. Still, there was no denying the fact that Crowley was a shit demon. 

The heart of the problem was the lower demon’s true motivation up here on earth. A certain blue-eyed principality was a major factor that Hell hadn’t initially given enough attention to. The thing is, it shouldn’t be possible for the two to rekindle what they had Above. For one thing, Crowley shouldn’t be able to feel compassion or love. His demonic nature should render him unable to produce any emotion that could fall under that umbrella. Lust would be acceptable, but if that were the case it should have manifested by now. Besides Crowley’s demonic nature, the angel shouldn’t be able to remember him as anything other than a minion of Hell. The more time they spent together the more likely it became that something would spark his memory. This was the key. If the angel Aziraphale had somehow remembered anything from Heaven before the Fall it could set off a disastrous chain reaction. 

Michael’s face was creased in disgust as he approached the alley. “I should never have let you set the location for this meeting.” He stopped in front of the Prince of Hell. “Let’s get this over with.” 

“Good to see you too, Mike,” the demon drawled. “Letzzz hear it. What do you know about your operative?” 

“Aziraphale seems to be performing his duties admirably. If anything he’s performing too many miracles. Nothing untoward appears to be happening.” The Archangel grimaced as a human stumbled out of the pub and vomited onto the ground. “Oh for Heaven’s sake,” he groaned. 

“Crowley has been meeting expectations as well,” Beelzebub offered, sniffing disdainfully. 

“Meeting expectations,” Michael echoed. “Beelz, this could be disastrous. Crowley is bad enough, if he wins Aziraphale to his side they could cause anarchy in both our domain and yours.” Michael shook his head as if to dispel the thought, sending his perfectly curled hair cascading into his face. 

“He won’t win the angel over. He won’t be allowed to remember what led up to the Fall. That’s why ‘m here,” the demon responded. “Crowley isn’t ambitious. On his own he’ll tempt a few to our side and corrupt a few to the middle with his damned,” the demon frowned, “moral ambiguity. That’s a manageable problem. If your operative is won over to the same philosophy all of Heaven and Hell will start to ask questions. That won’t happen as long as he doesn’t remember.”

“If we’d known then what a horrible demon he’d be we would never have pushed him out,” Michael groaned. “It was a lamentable oversight.” 

“Yeah,” Beelzebub sneered, “you did fuck up. You should have given us Aziraphale, too.” 

“Oh, he’d be a worse demon than Crowley and he wasn’t involved in your mess. And don’t you try to put this all on us!” Michael pointed an accusatory finger at the shorter being. “If you and Lucifer hadn’t dragged J-” he took a deep breath. “If you hadn’t involved Crowley in your schemes the poor boy never would have fallen.” 

“He asked the questions, we just told him where to go for answers,” Beelzebub shrugged. “He’s the one that got the others thinking. He was damn good at it. Still is,” the Prince of Hell wasn’t the least bit sorry for any of it. 

“Well, that’s the problem isn’t it? If he made the effort he could bring it all crumbling down around him.” Michael was getting a headache, if the way he was rubbing the bridge of his nose was any indication. 

“What do you propose? You could make the angel Fall. Crowley would either get what he wanted from the principality or destroy himself out of guilt.”

“That would only exacerbate the situation. Aziraphale may seem like the prototypical angel, but he can be ferocious. You ought to remember.” 

“Well, you can’t very well take Crowley back, can you?” 

“Out of the question,” Michael sighed. “We’ve done everything we could think of to drive them apart. We even infected Aziraphale with holy fury! Poor thing,” Michael had the decency to look contrite. 

“Wondered if that wazzz you,” Beelzebub sneered. “We’ve been throwing trouble their way, too.” 

“There is one thing we could try, but it’s a bit extreme for my tastes and there’s no guarantee it will work.” Michael looked up at the night sky, seeking out a constellation that the Fallen angel in question hadn’t been involved in creating. 

“I’m lizzzztening,” Beelzebub said, following Michael’s gaze. 

~

It was the mid seventeenth century and Crowley was preparing to leave Spain. He had just picked up a little souvenir that he planned to give to Aziraphale when he saw him next. It was a book that was highly praised in the country. He’d gotten his hands on a first edition. Aziraphale had a thing for those. He hadn’t read it, but the man at the shop had assured him that _El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha_ would be a world renowned masterpiece in a matter of years. The angel had been such a fan of that Shakespeare the last time he’d seen him, he figured another wordy tragedy might amuse him. 

Crowley was sauntering towards the docks to hop a ship to England when a voice he hadn’t heard in millennia called out to him. It was a soft, tender voice that concealed the strength of the speaker. It had said his old name. He froze in place and his heart stopped beating. He could feel the blood draining from his face as he turned. “Michael.”


	16. Burn

When Crowley had shown up in Paris he had been conflicted. He hadn’t seen Aziraphale in about fifty years and a lot had happened in that time. Still, he couldn’t stand by and let the angel get his fool head chopped off. Now, sitting across from the brightly smiling principality and sipping wine, he was pretty sure he had been set up. Aziraphale could have easily gotten himself out of that prison cell. He shouldn’t have ended up there in the first place. 

Aziraphale made a pleased sound as he bit into a flaky pastry. Crowley pushed his glasses further onto his nose. He should have turned down the invitation. For one thing he didn’t feel well. He had no appetite and he felt clammy. For another, he had been badly shaken by his run in with Michael and had been avoiding Aziraphale since. He knew he couldn’t stay away from him forever, but he wasn’t sure how to handle himself with the angel after what had happened. The Archangel’s words were etched into his memory. _“Your attempts at corrupting Aziraphale have not gone unnoticed. If he is to remain in the light of Heaven, he must reject you. Demon though you are, would you wish a Fall upon him?”_

“Dear boy,” Aziraphale’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You’ve hardly touched your wine, is something wrong?” 

“No, angel, just thinking,” Crowley smiled and took another sip of wine. It was very good. Aziraphale didn’t look convinced. Crowley gave him a devilish smirk. “You look disappointed, were you hoping to get me drunk?” 

“Oh, dear,” the angel gave him a disapproving look as his cheeks turned pink. Crowley laughed lightly. “You tease too much,” the angel muttered. 

“Probably,” Crowley conceded with a grin. “But you make it so easy.” 

“Really,” Aziraphale huffed. Despite his show of disapproval there was amusement dancing in his bright eyes. 

Crowley snapped his fingers. “I just remembered, I have something for you.” 

“You do?” Aziraphale looked genuinely surprised. 

“Well, don’t make a big deal out of it, I just came across it a few decades ago and thought you might like it,” now Crowley was blushing. He used a little magic to retrieve the old Spanish book from where he had stored it. He held it towards the angel who took it reverently. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale ran his perfectly manicured fingertips over the cover and Crowley looked into his glass of wine. “Oh, it’s in pristine condition! Thank you very much, dear.” 

Crowley felt warm and he didn’t think it was the wine. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, “seemed like the sort of thing you’d like.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Aziraphale gingerly opened the cover and looked over the first few pages. 

“No occasion,” Crowley finished off his wine. “Was just thinking about you.” Aziraphale beamed happily. 

Crowley loved seeing it, but he couldn’t deny that something didn’t feel right. He had the beginnings of a migraine pressing behind his eyes and he felt like he was getting warmer. He tried to brush off Michael's words, but they stuck in his mind like a barbed arrow. _“Do you think if he Fell for you that you would finally be satisfied? You are a demon, you can never regain the light of Heaven. Are you so desperate not to suffer in solitude that you would destroy him?”_

“Crowley, what is wrong?” Aziraphale reached across the table and touched his hand. They both startled away from the contact as a bolt of pain passed between them. 

“What the Hell?” Crowley stared at the back of his hand in horror. His flesh was singed. His wide eyes sought the angel’s and he saw that Aziraphale was similarly affected. 

“Why?” the angel asked softly, staring at the tips of his blackened fingers. 

“I don’t think that was me,” Crowley said guiltily. “That’s never happened before.” 

They were both silent as their skin slowly repaired itself. Finally Aziraphale broke the silence, “Crowley, there’s something I have to tell you. About the last time I was in Heaven.” 

“You think that has anything to do with this?” Crowley was fairly certain this was Michael’s doing. The Archangel had made a real show of jamming his forefingers into Crowley’s forehead and muttering some kind of blessing. Crowley had passed out, but when he woke he didn’t feel any different. He had tried to forget it. 

“It may,” Aziraphale sounded urgent. “You remember the dreams I was having? The memories,” he looked so earnest. “Something happened.” 

“Stop it,” Crowley demanded, getting to his feet. “I don’t want to hear anymore about that. I’ve told you before, there’s nothing worth remembering.” 

“Dear, this is important!” Aziraphale stood and grabbed Crowley’s sleeve to keep him from fleeing. 

“It really isn’t angel,” Crowley insisted. 

"Lying snake," the angel’s voice broke. Crowley’s heart started to beat erratically. He couldn't know. He couldn't. 

"I'm not lying," he said with conviction. He tried to pull out of his grip but Aziraphale held on. "Let me go, angel."

“Sorry,” he released the demon with a contrite expression. Crowley wanted to make him smile again. He liked the way the angel’s nose wrinkled when he smiled. 

He couldn't think of anything to say. "It's not a big deal, angel," he tried lamely. “I just don’t see why you’re so hung up on some stupid dreamsss. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

"Crowley, I remember." The demon blinked as his meaning worked its way into his brain. Aziraphale reached out slowly, then remembered he couldn’t touch the demon. "When I was in Heaven I went to the creek," he explained carefully. Crowley heard himself make a strangled sound, but couldn't look away from the cautious wonder in the angel's eyes. "I remember you." 

"You can't," he insisted. "Aziraphale, you can't."

"Not everything," he said softly. "Not yet, but I remember you. Your face, your voice," he let his hand fall to his side, "your touch."

Crowley couldn't contain a strangled sob. "This is bad, this is bad," he gasped, "oh, angel, this is sssso bad!"

"Why?" The angel looked like he wanted to move but wasn’t sure what to do. 

"Because now they can use me againssst you," he cried. "I'm more of a danger to you now than ever."

“Who can? Dearest, I don’t understand, what are you talking about?” Aziraphale’s eyes were filled with concern and Crowley buried his face in his hands to hide from it. How could he explain it to the angel without making things worse? The circumstances of Crowley’s Fall were not a memory he wanted to dredge up for any reason. It was unclear in places and he was pretty sure his subconscious had tried to repress it. He could remember one thing very clearly and it made him sick to think about. 

“Pleassse angel,” he let a broken sob escape. “Pleassse, you have to trussst me.” 

“I do,” Aziraphale’s hands moved towards him again, then fell to his sides. The angel let out a frustrated sigh. “I trust you, dear. You must know that by now.” 

Crowley sniffled and nodded. He was deeply embarrassed but couldn’t calm himself down. “There’sss something you don’t know,” he said softly. “That you can’t remember. Aziraphale, pleassse believe me. Please don’t try to remember more.” He focused on keeping his breathing steady and deep. The tears were still brimming in his eyes but he managed to calm his sobs. His head was pounding and he felt like he’d just taken a dip in a lava pool his skin was so hot.

“I don’t want to forget you,” he took a step forward. “I never wanted to forget you. After the Fall, when I realized that there were gaps in my memory, I felt such grief. Have you ever grieved and not been able to remember the reason?” He titled his head until Crowley lifted his eyes and looked at him over the top of his glasses. “Dear, I knew in my soul that I had lost something and I wasn’t even allowed to know what it was.” 

“That soundsss awful,” Crowley said, wiping at his eyes. 

“It was,” Aziraphale smiled sadly as the demon tried to collect himself. “It was lonely. The other angel’s didn’t share the experience. There was something different about me and I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t identify why I was suffering differently than the others and although they didn’t know either they distanced themselves from me.” He twisted his hands together in front of him. “Crowley, I want to understand.” 

“Forbidden knowledge, angel,” he said quietly. “Pleassse,” he searched the angel’s face desperately. 

“Oh Crowley,” the angel sighed. “Alright.” 

Crowley watched Aziraphale return to his seat and pour them each another glass of wine. He took a moment to wipe the moisture from his face before returning to his own seat. “Angel,” he said softly, “I don’t feel well. I think, after this glass, I’ll have to leave.” 

“Understandable, dear,” Aziraphale smiled sweetly at him. “Do try not to stay away so long next time.”


	17. Wrath

Crowley really had started to build up an immunity to divine energy. He could lurk around churches, he could visit holy sites, and he could be around angels. Hell, he’d even survived that horrible holy fury fiasco. Of course there were limits to this, consecrated ground still hurt and holy relics would still burn him, but overall he had been able to go where no other demon could. Whatever Michael had done to him ruined all of that. He got chills and headaches in the presence of holy sites and his skin would itch and eventually burn if he stayed near a church too long. He knew this through experimentation. During one memorable trial he had attempted to enter Ōura Church in Japan and a kindly old couple had watched him cursing and hopping from one foot to the other while his hands twisted into claws and his eyes started to glow. 

It really wouldn’t be a big deal if not for the fact that his newfound sensitivity extended to Aziraphale. He couldn’t touch the angel without both of them burning and if he stayed near him for too long Crowley would get horribly ill. They found that out pretty quickly when he had tried to keep his promise to visit the angel every few years and kept ending up with fevers and full body chills. He was pissed off at Heaven for feeling the need to curse, er, bless him. He was also suspicious of Hell. There was no way they weren’t at least aware of what was happening. The word paranoid might be an appropriate description of his mental state if the two sides weren't actually conspiring against him. 

When he’d asked Aziraphale for holy water he hadn’t expected the angel to react so violently. He needed a weapon on hand in case of an emergency. He needed a way to ensure that the other demons couldn’t get the drop on him. When Aziraphale had so vehemently denied him it sent him into a spiral. This was likely exacerbated by the angel referring to their friendship as “fraternization”, but Crowley tried not to think about that. He drank himself stupid for a few years, then he decided he needed some space away from all of the old holy sites in Europe. He went to America. 

New Mexico in the 1880’s was Crowley’s kind of place. People were crude and unrefined. They drank and smoked and stole without compunction. There also weren’t any old sanctified buildings leaving a fog of divine influence across the ground, just a little wooden church that Crowley never had to go near. He liked the fashion and the whiskey. It was the perfect place to drink away a few miserable decades. 

Crowley had stopped worrying about altering his gender. He just presented himself the way he liked at the time without changing his body. It felt right. He liked to wear accessories that were traditionally meant for ladies and he loved a nice pair of shoes, regardless of the intended gender. He also liked the jackets and the wide brimmed hats the men wore in this part of the world. He only had one outfit, because that’s all he needed. He wore a lovely burgundy silk blouse with a perfectly tailored black paisley vest and a black duster jacket that reached to his shins. He wore black, high-waisted trousers held up by a thin pair of suspenders and a round, black gambler hat with a silver snake hat-pin. He kept his hair long and braided down the center of his back. By far his favorite piece of clothing was the custom made snakeskin boots he wore. They had a pointed toe and an inch and a half heel. He liked the sound they made on the wooden floors when he walked. He also had a very expensive pair of dark glasses. They were octagonal with silver frames. 

He was considered flashy. He was also considered dangerous. Crowley was pretty fond of the persona he had here. Some people thought there was something infernal about the strange man. He never did go near the church and he grimaced when the reverend came around. He also never took off his dark glasses and that made people very suspect. You can’t trust a man you can’t look in the eye, they said. When asked Crowley explained that he had a medical condition which made his eyes sensitive to the light. Most people accepted this, despite the fact that he also wore them at night. 

He would hang around the saloon or the brothel and play cards with the ladies between customers. He enjoyed their crassness and their sense of humor. He made sure they never got robbed or ran out of good whiskey. Mr. Crowley never took any of the ladies to bed, and that was more than fine by them. They were happy to have the company of a man who kept himself clean and fine smelling and kept his hands to himself. They liked his accent and he would often regale them with tales of Europe that would send them into peels of laughter. 

There was one woman in particular that Crowley liked. She was full figured and had long, pale blonde hair that curled softly at the end and powder blue eyes. He made sure she was always healthy and had enough money to send home to her family. He wouldn’t admit to himself why Angelique was special to him. The ladies had concluded pretty quickly that Mr. Crowley was interested in men, but none of the ones ‘round these parts. They would gossip with him about sinful things and try to get him to confess who had scorned him (he drank too much _not_ to be a man scorned), but he wouldn’t talk. They concocted their own salacious backstory for him in which he had fallen in love with a minister's son and been spurned. Now he lived out his days alone, surrounding himself with other sinners who were rejected like he was. They were very perceptive, these ladies. 

It seemed like having Mr. Crowley around was good for business. Their clientele had certainly cleaned up and they never had an issue with anyone roughing up the girls when Mr. Crowley was in the building and usually not when he was out. In fact, most of the unsavory elements in town had vanished when Mr. Crowley had arrived. They never found any bodies. The men just rode off into the horizon and were never seen again. Rumors of his gang affiliations were increasing. Folks around town said that he was a famous outlaw. Some said he was Billy the Kid, that he had survived the shooting back in ‘81. Truthfully, Crowley had been approached by the Pinkertons on a number of occasions and asked to join their ranks as an undercover agent. They had dreadfully bad luck with those. He’d turned them down, but he couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the idea. 

One hot, dry summer evening Crowley was on his way to the brothel with a bottle of expensive brandy. It was the Madame’s birthday and he planned to spend the evening drinking and playing cards with the ladies. If Crowley had ever had a vacation this was it, and it was badly needed. He’d smiled a lot since he had arrived here and he felt like the stress of his situation was finally lessening enough for him to think through a solution. He had no idea how he was going to restore his ability to touch Aziraphale, but there had to be a way. He was going to have to move on soon anyway. It wouldn’t be long before people started to question why he wasn’t aging. He had nearly gotten himself into trouble a few weeks ago while playing cards at the brothel. 

_“We don’t even know your Christian name,” Angelique pointed out._

_Crowley blinked slowly and repressed a shudder at the wording. He didn’t have any other name, but humans did have two names nowadays, didn't they? He took a slow sip of brandy. “‘Ssss Anthony,” he muttered, not quite sure where he’d pulled the name from but liking it immediately._

Crowley wasn’t great at thinking on his feet. He would have to put more thought into his persona in the next place he settled. People weren’t perceptive, but if you hang around too long they would start to notice things. 

Crowley turned a corner and stopped at the saloon stairs. There was a stink in the air that made him grimace. Salt water, decay, and something earthy. He sighed and handed the bottle of brandy to a nearby cowboy who knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He stared at the door until the demon inside finally stepped out. Dagon had her arms folded behind her back as she descended the stairs. Her face was impassive as she stepped into his personal space. 

"You haven't been reporting in," she looked him over slowly. "You smell divine." It was not a compliment. 

"I had a run in with Michael," he grumbled. "I've been trying to get over the holy influence. It's made me ill."

"That's disgusting," Dagon frowned. "Let's go, you'll need to file a full report." 

Crowley shuddered. "Why," he muttered, "I'm positive someone down there already knows exactly what happened." An angel as powerful as Michael didn't just pop by the Earth without being noticed. 

"What are you implying?" her tone was like ice. 

Crowley refused to shrink away from her. The anger he'd been repressing since the holy curse started flooded forward. He felt his fangs press into his lip and flexed his black clawed fingers. "I'm implying," he hissed, "that you bastards sanctioned this!" 

Dagon raised a brow at him. "To what end?"

Crowley felt his demonic energy bubbling beneath his skin. They did it to drive him away from Aziraphale. To take away the only source of comfort left in his life. To punish him for failing to carry out their infernal plans. He felt scales sprouting along his spine and bit his lip, drawing blood. 

"Ah," Dagon gave a mirthless smile. "Wrath. So you are still one of us."

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck him. "I am," Crowley hissed. "I'm a demon. I'll never be anything else."

"That's right," Dagon nodded sagely. "It's time you stopped playing human." 

Crowley took a haggard breath and straightened his back. "No more playing," he glowered. This is what they wanted. They wanted to drive him to fury. They wanted him to lose control. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He would play along, lull them into a false sense of security until the time was right. They would come to regret toying with Anthony Crowley. 

"Shall we?" the demon raised her hand and a hole opened up in the ground. Crowley dropped into it without looking back.


	18. Church

Aziraphale stood in the smoking ruins of the old church with a dead man's satchel in his hands and he smiled. The events of the past thirty minutes should have distressed him but all he could feel was a lightness in his heart that had been missing for a long time. He looked at Crowley with understanding blooming in his heart. He was in love with the demon. It filled him with wonder and he felt silly that he was only realizing it now. His friendship for Crowley had grown into something more long ago, but it had developed so slowly and naturally that Aziraphale couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had switched labels. 

Crowley quickly picked his way through the rubble and onto the concrete beyond the church grounds. He leaned heavily against the Bentley, which was miraculously undamaged. "Are you coming, angel," he called. 

"Of course, dear," Aziraphale called back. 

Crowley opened the passenger door and gave an exaggerated wave in invitation before walking to the other side and getting in himself. Once inside of the vehicle Aziraphale couldn’t stop smiling and settled the bag onto his lap happily. "Angel," Crowley said softly, "could you turn down the heavenly radiance. Hurts."

"I'm sorry," he gasped. He took a breath and reigned his energy in as much as possible. "I'm just very happy to see you."

“‘Sssss nice to see you too, angel,” the demon smiled and pointed at the ignition, commanding the car to start. 

Aziraphale looked the demon over as they drove at speeds that were both frightening and unnecessary. Crowley looked healthier than he had the last few times they’d met. His skin wasn’t as pale and he didn’t look as deathly thin as he had. He was still wiry, but no longer skeletal. He had been frightened by how fast Crowley had deteriorated and more frightened that he didn’t know what was causing it. The demon had been mute about anything that might have initiated his sudden inability to withstand holy energy. Aziraphale’s very presence had become like poison to the demon. It filled him with pity and dread. The worst part was that he felt certain Crowley knew what was afflicting him and was choosing to conceal it from him. 

“How have you been, dear?” Aziraphale asked, watching the demon for any signs of distress. The consecrated ground of the church had certainly caused him more pain than he was letting on. 

“Better,” he smiled crookedly. “Not cured, but better.” 

“Still no touching then,” Aziraphale frowned. “And you won’t stay for a drink?” 

Crowley glanced at him curiously. “One drink. Maybe.” He looked back at the road. “I had to spend a little time in Hell, it seemed to help.” He spoke softly as though mentioning it made him nervous. His expression was serious and contemplative. Aziraphale fidgeted with the handles of the satchel. 

“Crowley?” 

“Angel,” he glanced at him. “What’s wrong? If you’re feeling bad about those Nazis don’t. They don’t deserve a damn bit of pity.” 

“Oh heavens no,” Aziraphale shook his head emphatically. “That isn’t it at all. I was just thinking about your condition. If being back in Hell helped then perhaps what you need is a good dose of demonic energy,” he was looking at his hands as he spoke. He was worried about how Crowley would react to the suggestion. From the corner of his eye he could see the demon’s posture stiffen. 

“I had the same thought,” he muttered after a long pause. “But, that kind of energy is hard to find and in order to create it myself,” he shuddered imperceptibly, “well, nothing living could be anywhere near me without being in danger. Besides I,” he turned to look at Aziraphale fully and the angel met his steady gaze, “I’m always afraid I’ll forget myself.” 

“I don’t think you have anything to fear, dear,” Aziraphale smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’re too clever to be rendered mindless.” 

“I hope you’re right, Zira,” he muttered. Crowley flexed his hands on the steering wheel and turned his attention back to the road. Aziraphale fell into a thoughtful silence. He could almost forget at times that Crowley was a demon. He was witty and silly and could be incredibly kind, although if Aziraphale ever pointed it out he was told to keep quiet. He supposed he wouldn’t want someone running around calling him bad and pointing out when he messed up. Crowley could get in terrible trouble for all of the kind little things he did. Like saving Aziraphale’s books. 

Aziraphale could be nervous at times, mostly owing to Crowley, but generally he didn’t fear much. He was on the side of Heaven and with that assurance he felt there was very little that could really hurt him in any meaningful way. He dreaded his relationship with Crowley getting him into trouble, but he really didn’t feel any fear of Falling because of it. If he was honest his fear was more for Crowley, because of what Heaven might do to a demon who was actively, from their point of view, tempting an angel. Aziraphale had faith on his side and it gave him the impression of being protected. Crowley lived a very dangerous life. Aziraphale admired that it didn’t stop him from being who he was. 

They were quiet when the Bentley pulled up outside of the bookshop. Crowley waited for Aziraphale to open the door the human way before following him inside. The demon settled on the arm of the couch while Aziraphale produced two champagne flutes and a chilled bottle. He poured Crowley a glass and was careful not to touch his fingers as he handed it off. 

“Thanksss,” he nodded. 

“Of course,” Aziraphale sat in the chair across from him with his own drink cupped between his hands. “Thank you for the assistance tonight.” 

“Sure thing angel, can’t very well let you get shown up by a bunch of occultist Nazis, now can I?” His tone was teasing and Aziraphale just shook his head. 

“I appreciate you, dear,” he took a sip of his champagne. Crowley’s cheeks flushed and he sipped his own drink. “I do, I’ve missed your company.” 

“Well,” Crowley tapped his foot nervously. “Yes, well, I uh…. I was in America. Lots going on over there, you know? Just got carried away I guess. Then I had to report back to Hell for a while and, well with my being ill and all, it didn’t seem advisable to visit.” 

“Dear, do you have any idea what’s caused your illness?” Aziraphale didn’t want to ruin the evening, but he desperately wanted to help. Crowley was suffering and had been for so long now. If there was any way he could alleviate the pain he wanted to know. Crowley leaned forward and let out a long suffering sigh. 

“I don’t want to involve you,” he muttered. Aziraphale studied Crowley’s troubled expression as the demon stared down at his knees. It confirmed what Aziraphale had suspected. 

“Who did this to you, dear?” He felt his chest tightening with anger. Someone had hurt Crowley, was continuously hurting him. Given the nature of his affliction that someone must be from Above. Aziraphale didn’t understand why, but he wanted to at least put a name to the horrible, vindictive act. 

Crowley looked miserable when he met the angel’s eyes. He shook his head slowly. “You’re an angel, Zira. I don’t want to do anything that would,” he hesitated and swallowed thickly, “that could threaten your faith.” Aziraphale blinked rapidly and sat back in his chair. “Besidesss it’s my own fault for messing around with sssanctified things. Should have known better.” 

Aziraphale’s heart ached. He wanted to hug the demon. To press Crowley close to his chest and envelop him in all of the affection he felt for the other being. The fact that he couldn’t and that the ability had been taken away by another angel filled him with something very much like anger. “Crowley,” he said softly, not sure what he wanted to say. 

“Tell me about your bookshop,” the demon said suddenly, standing and pacing around the small back room. “Quite a collection you’ve got.” 

“Crowley, don’t change the subject,” Aziraphale stood and stepped to the demon’s side. “I’m trying to help, but you must be honest with me.” 

“You can’t help, Aziraphale,” the demon took two long strides backwards and backed himself right into a towering bookshelf. 

“I can’t help if you don’t let me,” he countered, following the demon’s movement. 

“Not so close,” Crowley muttered. He shut his eyes tightly and took a few deep breaths. Aziraphale stepped back slowly. “Look, Zira,” he said when he could open his eyes again. “What’s happening to me isn’t some acute sensitivity or allergy. I realized it when I was in Hell.” Crowley looked pained as he slipped his sunglasses off. Aziraphale looked into the reptilian eyes, not a hint of white in them. He looked the demon over slowly and took note of the sharpening of his fingernails and the slight protrusion of his fangs when he opened his mouth to speak. “Whatever this curse or blessing is, it’s causing the presence of divine energy to draw out my own demonic energy. What hurts isn’t the sanctified things, it’s my own attempts to hold back my demonic nature.” 

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. Somehow that was so much worse. For Crowley to feel like he wasn’t in control of himself was such an intimate violation. Aziraphale’s mind flashed to the holy fury that had overtaken him during the early plague and he suddenly felt very ill himself. The memory took him so off guard that he had to lean against the nearby desk to stay upright. He could feel his hands starting to shake. 

“I should go,” Crowley said softly. “I’m glad we got to talk.” He pushed himself away from the bookshelf and started for the door. Without thinking Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his hand. Crowley hissed in pain and Aziraphale pulled back with a cry. Their eyes met and Aziraphale could see his own heartache reflected in Crowley’s yellow eyes. “Goodbye, angel,” he said, staring at his hand. “Until next time.” 

Aziraphale watched him walk out of the room. He didn’t move until he heard the Bentley roar down the street. It felt like a rejection and it stung. His hand healed slowly and he watched the damaged skin as it did. Crowley didn’t want his help. He didn’t trust him with the full truth of what was happening just like he didn’t trust him with the whole truth about what they were before the Fall. He would trust the demon with any problem. Crowley would be the first person he would turn to in a time of crisis. He wanted the demon to feel safe with him, but how could that happen if being close to Aziraphale made Crowley feel like he was losing control? Aziraphale picked his glass up with still shaking hands and started to drink.


	19. Salvation

Despite Aziraphale’s misgivings about the situation and Crowley’s own concerns that he might lose control, the demon wasn’t about to pour holy water on himself. There was too much left to see and experience for him to die now. The world was far too interesting. And he still needed to figure out exactly what Aziraphale had meant by “you go too fast”. His tone suggested it was a comment on more than just the demon’s driving. He needed the holy water in case he managed to piss Hell off with what he was planning to do. He had to get over this accursed blessing. 

1972 had been a chaotic year pretty much everywhere on the planet. Crowley tried not to think about it too hard, as a number of horrible occurrences seemed to be following him. He was worried that his demonic energy was seeping out without his permission and affecting the people around him. Militant groups kept forming out of seemingly nowhere and things just kept blowing up, literally. One particularly horrible incident in Ireland had thrown him into a deep depression. He had tried to convince himself that it wasn't his fault, but things weren't getting any better. So six years later, here he was, standing in front of an enormous, disused convent in Lithuania. The building hadn’t been occupied in a century and was beginning to crumble. Crowley had reached out to the Mother Superior who was technically still in charge of the place. 

He had claimed that he was possessed by the devil himself and he wanted the Mother Superior to bless the building, lock him in the basement, and seal the place with whatever holy rites or relics she could. She then had to leave and make sure that no one came anywhere near the building. She was a stern faced, stout woman who had eyed him skeptically from the moment he entered the building. His long hair and leather jacket made her doubt his claims were genuine. It had taken a rather over the top display of demonic power to convince her that he wasn’t just a crazy person or some flashy bastard pulling a prank. He had thrown himself onto the ceiling, revealed his glowing golden eyes, and hissed at her. It worked. 

It was december but the bitter cold wasn't what made Crowley shake as he finally approached the building. He knew the Mother Superior and another person were inside. He could feel them looking out at him. He wrapped his arms around himself as he walked to the door. It wasn’t any warmer inside than it was out and the whole place smelled of rotting wood and decay. His feet were burning, which he took as a sign they had blessed the grounds as requested. He was hissing under his breath. They didn’t exchange pleasantries, the Mother Superior and the younger woman who accompanied her simply motioned for the demon to follow them deeper into the building. 

The older woman walked confidently in front of him and the younger trailed behind. Crowley was grateful for the silence. He was focusing on holding himself together until he was sure he was alone and it was taking all of his concentration. The pressure in his chest was so strong he felt like his heart was ready to explode. The deeper they went into the building the worse it was. 

The young woman had a bag slung over her shoulder. She didn’t appear to be a nun. She wore a simple sundress and had her auburn hair cut short. She held a rosary in one hand and was whispering prayers as she trailed behind them. She didn’t seem to be afraid, just cautious. Crowley, on the other hand, was very afraid. Petrified. He wished he’d called Aziraphale and told the angel what he was doing. He wished he’d seen him before coming. He knew he couldn’t have, he didn’t think he could handle being close to the angel right now. He felt twitchy and ill most of the time. He looked a little like a drug addict, overly thin, skin sallow and drawn and eyes wild and paranoid. He didn’t want the angel to see him like this. 

He rubbed his arms as he followed the nun into the basement. It smelled like dirt down there and the holy energy was stronger. His fingernails were sharpening into claws and slowly blackening. The young woman was staring at his hands so he twisted them into the fabric of his grey t-shirt. He was led into a small, empty room. He walked in and turned to face the door, removing his sunglasses slowly. 

“Thank you,” his voice was rough. “Now, don’t forget what I said.” 

“I haven’t,” the Mother Superior met his reptilian gaze steadily. The young woman opened the bag she carried and retrieved a small glass bottle. Crowley recoiled on instinct. “Are you sure you don’t want anyone to check on you? You won’t be able to open this door once it’s locked. You could die here.” 

“I’m sure,” he was trembling. “Now finish it and get the Hell out.” The door closed slowly and the lock clicked into place. He heard the young woman praying and could feel the holy water dousing the outside of the door. He was sealed in. 

He paced the small room for as long as he could, giving enough time for the humans to flee. When several hours had passed Crowley stood in the center of the room. It was really more of a cell, only about seven by five. He took off his leather jacket and tossed it into a corner. His snake skin boots followed then his shirt. He was burning up. He sat in the center of the room and hugged his legs. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to him now. He only knew that if he didn’t release his hold on his demonic aura the divine energy surrounding him would likely kill him. 

He let his wings unfurl and stretch out behind him. The room was almost too small to accommodate his wingspan. He took a deep breath, hoped (but refused to pray) that this would work, and let go. 

The first sensation was burning, settling on his wings and behind his eyes. He tried to move, but it made his muscles shake and sear until he thought they might melt. He fell forward and lay with his face pressed against the cold stone floor. He cried out in the pitch black. There was no one to hear him and no reason to hold back. He couldn’t tell if the water pooling on the floor was sweat or tears. It was most likely a mix of the two. He clawed deep grooves into the stone floor. The skin along his spine rippled as scales began manifesting and he gasped. 

The fear that he would be trapped in this form flashed through his mind and he sobbed against the floor. A wave of infernal force exploded from him and cracked the door. The only light in the room was coming from his eyes. He could see the spiderweb cracks and recoiled away from the holy water saturated wood. He staggered to his feet as another shockwave tore through him and the stone above his head rumbled like thunder. The building was going to collapse on his head. 

Crowley heard a gutteral roaring. He couldn't remember ever feeling such anger. He was going to self destruct in a dingy basement all alone because he was too good for Hell and not good enough for Heaven. As much as he had tried to brush off the bitterness the constant rejection had bred in him it was still there, coiled in his belly and dripping venom. The only person who had ever made him feel accepted was Aziraphale and now he was being forcibly removed from Crowley's life. He realized that the roaring was coming from him and redoubled the effort. He hoped that Michael could hear it from wherever he was. He let the rage inside of him strike out. 

His throat was bleeding, he could taste it, but he kept screaming. The pressure in his chest exploded outward and the door shattered. Another shockwave of infernal rage followed in quick succession and stone fragments rained down around him. Something broke. Snapped. He felt cold. The pressure in his chest increased rapidly and he gasped and collapsed to his knees in agony. Crowley closed his eyes. He couldn't contain it. His ribs ached as though they were bending under the force. 

"I'm sorry Aziraphale," his voice rasped. The demonic force exploded from him and the groan of stone responded followed immediately by the roar of a rock slide. Something deep in Crowley told him this was it. He wouldn't survive being buried under tons of consecrated stone. 

He was so tired he couldn't move to brace for the impact. He waited. The sound of the building collapsing was deafening and he was choking on the dust it threw into the air. Something strong and warm wrapped around his waist. Crowley couldn't resist the pull as he was cradled against a broad chest. Something soft surrounded him. A sense of peace he hadn't known in millennia shrouded him. He passed out. 

~

Aziraphale had been at his bookshop in Soho when an overpowering sense of dread had struck him. He had closed up and headed to the roof. Something powerful was brewing in the East. Something infernal. He could feel it growing. He didn't know how, but he knew it was Crowley. He gave a cursory glance at the street and unfurled his wings. Something within whispered for him to hurry. He flew faster than he had in centuries. 

He made it just in time. Crowley was visible through a hole that had been torn through the roof. Aziraphale dove straight for him. There wasn't time to pull the demon out. The building was collapsing too fast and unlike Crowley, Aziraphale had never managed to stop time. He pulled the demon, gasping and covered in bleeding scratches, against his chest. He could feel Crowley trembling weakly as he wrapped his wings around them. By the time the collapsing building settled Crowley was unconscious. 

It wasn't until they landed on the roof of his bookshop several hours later that Aziraphale realized he was touching Crowley without burning. He kissed the unconscious demon's forehead softly and carried him inside.


	20. Revelation

The virtue was growing weary of the company he had been keeping. It felt wrong to him that he should feel that way, and that in itself felt wrong. There was only one thing that felt right in his life anymore and that was the principality who was waiting for him at their usual meeting spot near the creek. The younger angel was truly a gift to him. It had been a long time since they’d first met and despite the two having very different responsibilities they spent as much time together as they could. He probably wasn’t supposed to love any one angel more than the rest. He probably wasn’t supposed to have a favorite, but he did and it was Aziraphale. 

He suspected the younger angel felt similarly for him. Aziraphale’s smile was filled with joy as he spotted the virtue approaching. He ran to greet him with a warm embrace. 

“I was beginning to wonder if you had been called away,” he said. 

“I would have sent word to you if I had,” he returned the smile as they parted. He had been very busy lately and he wasn’t able to tell Aziraphale why. He didn’t like withholding information from him, but some sense within himself told him that it was better for the younger angel not to know what Lucifer and his friends were doing. He didn’t know why, but he felt that something bad was going to happen to all of them. He knew that included him, but he hoped it wouldn’t extend to Aziraphale. What that bad thing was he couldn’t say, nothing bad had ever happened before, he only knew that dread had taken root within him. 

Aziraphale had never done anything to deserve so much as a cross look. The principality was devoted to his work and exuded innocent love for creation. He was everything an angel should be. He loved that about him. The look in the younger angel’s eyes when they talked reminded him of the way he felt when he was out among the stars. 

“I like your hair,” Aziraphale said sweetly, brushing the unruly dark locks behind his ears. He had cut it to shoulder length a short time ago, unsure why he had the urge to do it. He had felt relief as the blade sliced through his hair with a satisfying efficiency. His face flushed at the compliment. 

“That’s nice of you,” he muttered. Aziraphale was nice. To everyone. All the time. Most angels weren’t, though he thought they were supposed to be. Most angels were focused on carrying out their duties as though performing well would gain them some special allotment of love from the Almighty. He was more than content with the extra attention his little Prince gave him. Being with Aziraphale quieted his mind. He gave thanks in his heart for the blue eyed angel's creation. 

"Have you been well?" Aziraphale asked. He smiled and wrapped his arm around the shorter angel’s shoulders as they started to walk. 

"Yes," he said softly. 

Aziraphale leaned against his shoulder and he nuzzled into the principalities soft hair. “I’m so happy you came to see me. I know there are a lot of others who would like to spend time with you. It always makes me so happy when you choose me,” his tone was soft and nervous. 

“Of course I choose you,” he drawled, amused. “I’d choose you every time.” Aziraphale beamed at him. He sighed, content. He wished he could stay like this forever. He brought his hand up to card lazily through the principality's curly hair. He was troubled, but right now those troubles seemed far away. He hadn’t meant to start acting as a messenger for Lucifer. He had simply done what he’d always done. He’d asked questions. Lucifer, it turned out, had questions too. A lot of angels did. No one seemed to have answers, but Lucifer had promised him that they were out there. He had promised his troubled mind would be satisfied if he helped Lucifer and his companions. 

“You seem distracted,” Aziraphale was looking curiously up at him. “What’s wrong?” 

“What could be wrong?” he smiled. Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled in distaste as he straightened up. 

“I know that something has been weighing on you, dear,” he stopped walking to look at him fully. His eyes were troubled and searching. 

“Have I put that worried look in your eyes?” he asked, cupping Aziraphale’s jaw and frowning. He didn’t want to be responsible for anything negative in his principality's life. “Why are you worried?” 

Aziraphale leaned into his touch and sighed softly. “I have a feeling that I can’t explain,” he said quietly. “I feel like something bad is going to happen. It seems like the angels are acting strangely. It’s been quiet in Heaven, but there have been whispers. It feels like there are secrets and I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. It feels wrong.” He twisted his fingers nervously into his clothing as he spoke. “I see you whispering with the others and I worry because you look troubled by it.” 

“Oh,” he said softly. “Little Prince, you are more perceptive than I realized.” He pulled Aziraphale into a hug and kissed the top of his head. “I think that you’re right. I think that something bad is going to happen. Soon,” he tightened his grip on the younger angel. “Promise me when it does that you will protect yourself. Promise me that you will not get caught up in it.” 

“No,” he said sternly. 

He pulled back to look into Aziraphale’s eyes. “No?” 

“I won’t protect myself if you’re in danger. I will fight to protect you, no matter what. I love you.” His blue eyes were blazing with determination and his heart ached at the sight. 

“I love you too,” he said earnestly. “That’s why you have to stay safe.” 

“You can’t ask me to hide if something goes wrong,” Aziraphale insisted. “I won’t stand by and let you be hurt, Jan-”

Crowley jerked upright. His chest ached and he couldn’t get a full breath. He was covered in cool sweat and every muscle and bone in his body ached. He was in a strange bed in a strange room. He pressed his hand to his chest and commanded his heart to slow. He took in his surroundings as calmly as he could. Cool cotton sheets were wrapped around his legs. He was dressed in black, silk pajamas, similar to what he would normally wear but not his. There was a pale colored tartan quilt bunched up at the bottom of the bed. The room smelled of candles and parchment. He was in Aziraphale’s bed. 

He let out a deep sigh and slumped against the headboard. He pressed one hand to his forehead as memories slowly resurfaced. The old convent, the nun, the bursts of infernal energy that had threatened to rend his body apart, it all came back to him. He remembered the roof caving in and literal tons of consecrated stone threatening to bury him. Then there were warm arms and something soft enveloping him. 

Feathers. Wings. It was Aziraphale’s wings. Crowley didn’t know how he knew to come, but the angel had saved him. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Aziraphale had wrapped him up in his arms, in his wings. They hadn’t burned. It worked! He laughed and let his head fall back with a thud. It bloody worked. 

“You’re finally awake,” Aziraphale was standing in the doorway with a relieved smile on his face. Crowley beamed at him. “It’s been months, dear.” 

“Is that all?” he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I expected to sleep for years after that. I’ve never been so exhausted.” He carefully got to his feet. His legs were wobbly but he managed to stay upright. 

“That was a dangerous stunt you pulled,” the angel scolded. “You are very lucky I found you in time.” Aziraphale’s tone was serious, but the look in his eyes was tender. 

“Yeah,” he shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. “Thank you.” Crowley raised his arms over his head and stretched. His back creaked and popped in protest and he groaned. He certainly felt like he hadn’t moved much in several months. 

Aziraphale pushed away from the door frame and walked to him. “You’re welcome,” he said brushing Crowley’s hair away from his face. Crowley felt his cheeks heating up, but he was so relieved to feel the touch that he couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad it worked, dear.” The way Aziraphale was looking at him made Crowley’s stomach flutter. 

“Me too,” he agreed. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. 

“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale seemed equally conflicted. His fingers were twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch Crowley more, but he held back. 

Crowley didn’t have as much self control. He was overwhelmed by the lightness in his chest. The freedom to be near Aziraphale and to touch him was such a relief he felt like he could cry. He snaked one arm around the angel’s waist and pulled him close. “I feel incredible,” he grinned. Aziraphale blushed a pretty shade of pink and Crowley brought his free hand up to card through the angel’s hair. “You saved me. I owe you one, angel.” His tone was more than a little suggestive and Aziraphale chuckled nervously and pulled out of his grip. 

“My dear, you are in high spirits,” he smiled and held on to Crowley’s upper arms. “But you’ve been unconscious for nine months. I’m going to order some food, why don’t you take a shower and get changed?” 

Crowley gave an embarrassed nod. “Yeah, right, that uh, that’s probably a good idea.” Aziraphale patted his arms then walked to the door. 

He paused and looked over his shoulder at the demon. “You will be staying a while, won’t you?” 

Crowley blinked. “Yeah? Um, if you want, I mean, if you think I ought to.” He could stay now. There was nothing keeping him from spending as much time with the angel as they wanted. 

“Good,” Aziraphale smiled brilliantly at him before continuing down the stairs. Crowley felt pleasantly warm and gazed down at his fingertips. They were normal fingertips, not claws, which he was grateful for. They had also stroked Aziraphale’s soft locks and for that they were anything but normal. He blushed hard as he made his way into the adjoining bathroom. All of the friendship and affection he felt for the angel couldn’t explain the way he had just clung to him and caressed him. 

Crowley blessed under his breath as he started the shower. He couldn’t keep lying to himself. He was in love with the angel. It shouldn’t have been possible, but here it was. It was imperfect and messy. He knew his own flaws well and he knew that Aziraphale wasn’t perfect either. He could be pompous and bullheaded and he indulged his desires more often than he should. He was irritating and willfully ignorant at times. He was not, despite his best efforts, a perfect angel. Crowley liked that about him. The part about it that was surprising to him was that it wasn’t the remnants of affection from before the Fall. He didn’t _still_ love Aziraphale. At some point in the last few millennia he had fallen in love with him all over again. He had fallen in love with Aziraphale as a demon. As Anthony J. Crowley. It was so much better this way.


	21. Doubt

Aziraphale was walking home from a nice dinner with Crowley. The demon had offered him a ride, but he was on his way out of the country tonight and it was a cool spring evening so the angel had opted to walk. The two had been meeting regularly since the convent incident a decade ago. Their relationship had grown significantly since then. Crowley could be quite flirtatious, not that Aziraphale really minded. He liked the way the demon would let his touch linger and the genuine affection behind his little smirks was impossible to miss. They were still careful not to cross any lines. Not because they didn’t want to, but because Aziraphale was still afraid of what could happen to Crowley if they were found out. Crowley had slowly opened up about some of the pressure he had been under from Above and Below regarding their friendship and the reality of the threats the demon had received made Aziraphale fear for his safety.

The demon had told Aziraphale about Hastur showing up back in the third century and about Dagon tracking him down in the Old West. He told him about the meeting with Beelzebub after Aziraphale had discorporated him and the threats that were made. Crowley had spoken of the other demons with a sort of irritated indifference. He never talked about Heaven that way. The worst Hell could do, he'd told Aziraphale, was destroy him. 

One drunken evening he had curled into the angel’s lap and told him in halting sentences about Michael visiting him in the seventeenth century. Aziraphale had been overcome with a white hot rage when Crowley had quietly stammered bits of the Archangel’s words. The very notion that Crowley was trying to corrupt Aziraphale was ridiculous. The demon was a consummate gentleman with him. He always made sure Aziraphale was comfortable before initiating any contact more intimate than a hug. If anything he had been tempting the demon. The bone deep self loathing in Crowley's voice that night had broken the angel's heart. 

_You can never regain the light of Heaven._ Aziraphale shook with anger just thinking about it. The cruelty was compounded by the curse Michael had forced on Crowley. When he thought about the anguish it had caused them both and the risk Crowley had taken to free himself from the pain he wondered why he put any stock into what Heaven thought was right. He had held the shivering demon through the night, whispering softly and stroking his hair. 

It wasn't until Crowley left the next morning that the guilt had set in. Crowley had endured so much because of their relationship and he had endured it alone. Aziraphale had been blissfully unaware of the interference from both of their sides and it made him feel like a fool. Crowley still wouldn't talk about anything before their meeting in Eden and he made Aziraphale swear not to push at the block over his memories. It was getting harder to keep that promise. For Heaven and Hell to go to such extremes to keep them apart there must be something important hiding just beyond his reach. Something they wanted to remain hidden. 

Aziraphale turned the corner onto his quiet street and sighed. He tilted his head back to look at the stars. He remembered that Crowley had a hand in creating some of them and it warmed something in him to stargaze with the demon. Crowley was still so proud of his work, even if he tried to hide it. He didn't know if he and Crowley would ever be able to take their relationship further or if they would be trapped in this limbo between friendship and something more until the End. It wasn’t necessarily that he wanted more than what they had. He just wanted to have the option, the freedom to let things grow between them. He could be content with the affectionate touches and soft words, but every so often he had the urge to kiss the grin off of Crowley's handsome face. He knew the demon felt the little frisson of lust that occasionally passed through him because a dark blush colored Crowley's sharp cheekbones every time. He imagined it was the same way his cheeks turned pink when he felt the love coming from Crowley. 

“Aziraphale.” The voice was a low croak in the darkness. Aziraphale paused mid step and frowned. The scent of wet rot and sulfur followed the voice. He straightened his spine and his lapels then turned to face the dark alley beside his bookshop. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Unspeakable One,” his voice dripped sarcasm. As much as Aziraphale disliked all demons, save Crowley of course, he had a special loathing for Hastur. _His_ demon detested Duke Hastur with a ferocity that made Aziraphale wonder what had transpired between the two to warrant Crowley’s anger. He never asked. “What do you want?” 

“Just here to talk,” he stepped out of the shadows and sneered at the angel. “I have a message for you, about your pet demon.” 

“So, start talking.” Aziraphale’s voice carried a dangerous edge and he couldn’t remove the look of disgust from his face, not that he was trying very hard. 

"Crowley isn't what he presents himself to be," the demon began. Aziraphale stared unflinchingly at him. "He'd like you to think he's some insignificant lowly demon. Do you think the temptation of Man would be put to some sniveling underling? That the Earth would be left to the machinations of just any infernal soul?" Aziraphale clenched his jaw and glared dangerously. The force of his divine anger forced Hastur to take a step back. 

“He is good at his job,” Aziraphale said. 

Hastur laughed meanly. “He is. I’m sure you’ve noticed he doesn't look like other demons. He keeps himself fresh, young, lean,” he leered at Aziraphale “attractive.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks heating in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “He makes himself desirable. It’s easier to get what he wants that way. Easier to tempt people when they want him.” 

"Do you think I'm at all ignorant of what he is?" Aziraphale demanded. “I’m well aware he’s a demon.” 

Hastur's dull eyes brightened with something like amusement. "Not just a demon," he said. "He’s a favorite Below. Always coming up with clever ways to advance our cause. Always undertaking tasks no one else would dare to. Tasks like seducing an angel.” Aziraphale made a distressed sound and used his aura to push the demon further back. Hastur kept talking. “He consorts with the Lords of Hell, he advises the Dark counsel, he’s damn close to becoming a Prince of Hell." 

"I suppose I'm meant to take you at your word?" Aziraphale asked darkly. "I'm not a fool, Hastur."

"No," the Duke of Hell agreed. "But soon you will know I'm telling the truth. He will be given a task that will reveal his true status Below."

"And you're warning me out of the kindness of your heart?" Aziraphale glowered. 

"I'm telling you because you have the power to destroy him and I don't." Hastur glared and clenched his fists at his sides. "You'll see," he muttered. "It'll be soon," then he melted back into the shadows and descended to Hell. 

Aziraphale released a ragged breath and unclenched his jaw. The force of his anger frightened him. The powers that be had tried everything to make Crowley leave him and now that they had failed they wanted him to turn on the demon. He let himself into the bookstore and calmly locked the door behind him. He immediately walked to the phone and picked up the receiver. He dialed Crowley’s number, but hung up when it started to ring. What would calling Crowley now accomplish? 

He could picture the demon’s expression upon hearing that Hastur of all beings had sought him out. No, he didn’t want to put that burden on Crowley. He didn’t want to give Hastur the satisfaction of getting to him. It wasn’t as if there were any truth in what he had said anyway. He knew Crowley better than anyone. They had been the only immortal cohabitants of the earth for 6000 years. He trusted Crowley and he wasn’t going to allow a slimy demon like Hastur to damage what they had. Aziraphale went to the kitchen to make himself some tea. 

He did manage to put Hastur’s words out of his head. In fact he had forgotten about the night all together until years later when Crowley had shown up at the bookshop to tell him that the Antichrist had been born and that he, Crowley, had personally delivered him. Surely it was an honor, a task that wouldn’t be entrusted to just any demon. For the first time in his existence Aziraphale let doubt take root in his heart. 


	22. Advice

Humans had, over the millennia, learned a lot of things about Heaven and Hell that they probably shouldn’t know. Among this trove of knowledge were the names of many angels and demons. One book in particular, a tome about forbidden magics written in 1801 by someone called Barrett, had some of the more obscure names. If you looked very hard you would eventually find Crowley’s old name among the list of angels. It would be a brief entry, unimpressive and easily forgotten. He was one of many angels of the fifth heaven who ruled on a Tuesday and were subject to the East wind. Crowley wasn’t sure where the Tuesday thing came from, but the rest was more or less accurate. 

Crowley was glad his name wasn’t known to humans. That’s how summonings happened and he did not want to be at the whim of some idiot with a circle of dollar store candles and delusions of grandeur. He had enough going on now that he had managed to lose the Antichrist. Crowley wouldn’t, couldn’t endure another war with Heaven. It had taken him millennia to recover from the first one. The images still haunted him. He likely wouldn’t live that long anyway. Hell was going to want his head on a platter when they realized how badly he’d screwed up. He had, for some reason he couldn’t understand, been entrusted with delivering the Antichrist to his earthly parents. He had handed the child off to the Satanic nuns who had, as Satanists are wont to do, messed it all up. Now he was going to be held responsible for it. 

The most distressing thing for him was the way Aziraphale was reacting to the crisis. He was reluctant to act and seemed to be suspicious of Crowley’s intentions. He didn’t know why, but it hurt. He wanted nothing more than to stop the End from happening. Crowley had no desire to return to Hell and he certainly had no place in Heaven. Earth had become his home. He didn’t want to see it destroyed. He had thought that Aziraphale felt the same way. He had only suggested running away together because he was desperate. If he couldn’t save the Earth he could at least spare his angel the coming war, but Aziraphale wouldn’t go with him. He didn’t want to turn his back on Heaven. Crowley knew that something was weighing on the angel but Aziraphale wouldn’t admit it. There wasn’t anything he could do if the angel wouldn’t talk to him. He had thought that Aziraphale trusted him, but now he wasn’t sure. 

The bandstand breakup, because really what else could he call it, left Crowley feeling drained. He couldn’t just leave his angel, so he had found Aziraphale and tried again. It was a fact of their relationship that sometimes the angel just needed time to think things over. Sometimes Crowley went too fast, so he had given Aziraphale a little time to think it over. He had apologized and asked him again. Aziraphale didn’t want to run away with him. He was choosing Heaven. 

Crowley hadn’t slept in eleven years. There was too much at stake, so the first thing to cross his mind as he began to wake was confusion. A familiar voice was calling his name. It was deep and rough from damage. Crowley felt cold all over as he placed the voice. He opened his eyes slowly. 

He was on the couch in his living room. He hadn’t even taken his tie off before he’d fallen asleep. Crowley squinted in the light and stared up at the form looming over him. “What are you doing here?” 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Lucifer asked softly. Crowley hadn’t seen him take this form in millennia. He usually played the role of Satan these days, with the red skin and horns. Now he looked like an attractive young executive. He was dressed in a fine black suit and had his blond hair combed neatly back. He looked a lot like he had when they’d met. 

“I wouldn’t say we’re still friends.” It was a fact, and there was no venom in Crowley’s voice as he stated it. He stood slowly and met the ex-seraph’s blue eyes steadily. Crowley hated Hell, but that had very little to do with Lucifer. Very little in Hell had to do with Lucifer anymore. Crowley was one of a handful of demons who knew that their supposed Lord had a tendency to sneak off to the Earth, sometimes for centuries at a time. 

“No,” Lucifer agreed. “I suppose we aren’t. Still, I wanted to speak to you.” His expression wasn’t unkind as he looked Crowley over. It never was.

“Could’ve sent a message,” he said quietly. “You’ve got lots of little errand boys that could have delivered it.” 

The blond gave him a humorless smile. “Not very trustworthy messengers,” he said with a shrug. “About twenty years ago Hastur paid a visit to your angel.” Crowley’s hands spasmed at his sides. “He told him a number of half truths designed to make him doubt you.” 

“Hastur,” Crowley hissed the name like poison. “That slimy, detestable toad.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It had been a few millennia since he and Lucifer had spoken. As much as he hated Hell and as wrong as everything had gone for him personally, Crowley never really stopped respecting Lucifer. He had very little control over the cult that had grown up around him Below. Being the Devil was really more of a ceremonial role. 

“Because I owe you one,” he said softly. “And because I want you to find my son.” He placed his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Michael and Beelzebub are off the mark. Your angel can bring this all to a grinding halt, but only if you’re with him.” 

Crowley felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “My angel,” he muttered. “He won’t turn on Heaven.” 

Lucifer smiled kindly at him. It was the same smile he used to give Crowley Above when he was frustrated by the questions he couldn’t resolve. Lucifer was the first one who had listened to his questions without judgement. He had recognized the logic behind his thoughts and would commiserate with his confusion. Lucifer had been his first friend. “He _is_ your angel, Anthony.”

Crowley smiled sadly. “He is, isn’t he? You know, he remembers me from before, a little.” He didn’t want to think about the Fall, but it was hard not to when Lucifer was around. It was the reason he had stopped visiting him in the first place. Well, that and the vicious rumors the other demons had cooked up about Lucifer and the serpent of Eden. Still, he was grateful to have someone to talk to right now. 

Lucifer’s hand came up to grip the back of Crowley’s head. It was a gentle touch, not threatening. He had often done this before when he was saying something important. When he wanted to make sure his words would stick. “What happened Above wasn’t your fault.” Crowley stared unblinking at him. “He’s going to remember everything, and he’ll need you when it happens. It was traumatic for all of us, but what happened to the two of you,” he shook his head and released his grip on Crowley, “I am sorry.” 

“Thankssss,” he said softly. It changed absolutely nothing about what had transpired, but it was still nice to hear. “They’re going to want to destroy him if he remembers. What am I supposed to do then?” 

“They won’t,” the way he said it left no room for argument. “They think he’ll start another rebellion if he remembers. They worry the two of you will tear it all down.” 

Crowley barked a laugh. “Why would we do that?!” What would be gained by destroying Heaven and Hell? True, Crowley wanted no part of either, but they served a vital purpose. If he wanted the Earth to keep going, and he did, then Heaven and Hell had to keep functioning too. 

Lucifer huffed a laugh. “Anyone else in your position would want revenge,” he smiled. “None of them can understand that you would just want to move on with your lives.” Lucifer glanced at the clock. “I’m out of time.” 

“Right, can’t have anyone catching on,” Crowley smirked. “I appreciate it.” 

“Don’t mention it,” the blond smiled. “You might visit once in a while.” 

“Please,” he shook his head. “That’s half of what got me into this mess. Every ambitious bastard Below is jealous that you like me.” 

“You’ve very likable,” he chuckled. Crowley rolled his eyes. With a quick blinking of the light Lucifer was gone. He never was one for theatrics, but it unnerved Crowley how quickly and easily he could come and go. 

Crowley sat on the couch. Aziraphale was going to remember the Fall. Part of him had known that for a long time now. It didn’t make it any easier to accept. He propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes. He could still see the angel standing over him, his armor splattered with blood, his flaming sword brandished above his head. The knowledge would hurt Aziraphale. It would fill him with guilt and make him doubt himself. Crowley wanted his angel to be spared. As much as being forgotten had hurt, it had protected Aziraphale. That protection was running out. Then again, time for everything was running out. The world was about to end.


	23. Love

The fact that they were alive was something neither of them had quite grasped yet. They had left the airbase less than an hour ago after a short round of goodbyes to the humans, and not quite human, who had helped save the world. Crowley was exhausted but he could practically see the energy thrumming under Aziraphale’s skin. The bus came to a stop outside of Crowley’s flat and he turned to the angel. 

“You’re sure?” he was trying not to be nervous about bringing the angel home with him. Things had been tense between them for the past decade. They had both said things out of anger and desperation in the past week and there hadn’t been time to process it all, let alone talk it out. But, he’d offered to let the angel stay with him and Aziraphale had accepted. This felt right to him, but he couldn’t tell what Aziraphale was thinking. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. 

“Yes, thank you dear,” Aziraphale stood and exited the bus. Crowley followed at his heels. The bus driver wasn’t sure why he’d stopped here or why he was so behind schedule, but nothing would come of it. His petrol level wasn’t even affected. 

Crowley led the angel into his flat and flipped on the lights. They had hardly spoken on the bus and he was afraid to break the quiet calm. Aziraphale followed him inside and shut the door. He looked around at the sparsely furnished room with a nervous curiosity. He had only been here once before and it was decades ago. It had changed a lot. Crowley didn’t like things to stay the same. He updated his furniture and electronics every few months. He just never felt content with the things he had. 

“Would you like tea?” he offered softly. Aziraphale smiled, but didn’t answer. He walked by Crowley and sat on the couch. It wasn’t very comfortable, mainly because it was rarely used. The demon trailed behind him and sat on the edge of the far cushion. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale turned towards him. “There’s so much I have to say, I’m not sure where to start.” 

“Well,” Crowley took his glasses off and sat them gently on the coffee table. He was truly exhausted, but Aziraphale clearly needed someone to talk to right now. “Start with whatever feels most important, angel.” 

“I love you.” Crowley blinked rapidly and stared at Aziraphale. He couldn’t have possibly heard that correctly. “I love you,” he repeated. “I should have told you sooner, but well, the way things were I didn’t feel like it was appropriate.” He smiled sadly and twisted his hands. “I owe you an apology. Dear, you’ve never been anything but honest and open with me and I haven’t extended you the same respect. I told myself it was for your own protection. We both know that you’ve always been in more danger in our relationship, but the truth is, well, I think that I was afraid.” He reached out and gently took Crowley’s hand. “Accepting that I was in love with you meant that I had to face a lot of other things that I wasn’t ready to deal with. It, well, it meant that I had to question my own faith. The truth is dear, I have never been able to understand why you Fell and it frightened me. I thought that by not seeing you as evil I was revealing a flaw within myself. I thought it meant that I was bad.” He just kept talking like he didn’t expect Crowley to reply to any of it. The words kept tumbling out in a nervous stream. 

“I love you too, angel,” Crowley said softly. Aziraphale fell silent. Crowley shifted closer to him on the couch and lifted the angel’s hand to his face, kissing his knuckles lightly. “You don’t owe me anything, angel. I may not have lied, but I have withheld information. I’ve been selfish.” He clasped the angels hand between his. “I should have left you alone, but I missed you. I should have let you live your life, but I couldn’t stay away.” 

“I didn’t want you to,” Aziraphale said. 

“Angel,” Crowley bit his lip. “Please, tell me what you remember about me before the Fall.” Crowley didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to do this. Every part of him was trembling at the notion of seeing Aziraphale’s face as he realized what he had done. But, this needed to happen. Now that Armageddon had been averted Heaven and Hell were going to come after them and he couldn’t leave anything for either side to use against them. There couldn’t be any secrets between them now. 

“I remember meeting you,” Aziraphale smiled at the memory. “I was so young. I heard your voice from a distance and I was drawn to you. You were so nice to me. I remember that I was entranced by your eyes. They were so unusual and so pretty. They still are.” Crowley blushed and released the angel’s hand. 

“You were so cute,” he said softly. “The way you were staring at me was so unabashed, so curious. And your hair was so unruly, hanging in your eyes. You looked so soft, I couldn’t help wanting to touch you,” Crowley confessed. Aziraphale laughed delightedly and the sound made the demon blush deeper. 

“I loved you immediately,” Aziraphale said. “But, it was different.” 

Crowley felt a hopeful little flip in his stomach. “Different?” 

“Well, the way I love you now feels different. In Heaven it was this innocent thing. I loved everything, and while you were always special to me there was no effort to it. It just happened and I never considered that it could be otherwise.” There was a look of concentration on the angel’s face. 

“But we had to work for it this time,” Crowley whispered. “We had to fight to get it.” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale cupped his cheek. “Yes, I think I appreciate it more now because I know it could be taken away so easily. I know how precious it is.” Crowley was barely breathing. His heart stuttered in his chest. He had worried that Aziraphale’s affection for him was some remnant from before. To hear the angel echo his own feelings on the matter made his heart ache in the best way. 

“I loved you in Heaven,” he breathed. “I’m in love with you now.” 

Aziraphale closed the space between them before Crowley could register the movement. He gasped as the angel’s lips pressed to his. It was a quick, chaste kiss. Crowley’s heart stopped. “It’s not ignorant love, this time,” the angel smiled. “I know what it means, now.” 

Crowley forced himself to pull back. “Aziraphale,” his voice was strangled. “There’s something you need to know. What do you remember about the Fall?” 

Aziraphale’s smile fell away gradually and he shut his eyes. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was running as fast as I could. I was in a panic,” his face pinched in concentration. “I had my sword and I was in my armor. Everything was in chaos. It happened so fast, we were at war with one another and I couldn’t tell who I was supposed to be fighting. I saw Michael engaged with Lucifer and I ran.” He blinked as if he were dispelling a vision. 

“Yes,” Crowley kept his voice as soft as he could. “You abandoned your post.” Aziraphale looked disturbed. 

“Why do you want to talk about this now?” he pulled away from Crowley’s touch. 

Crowley could feel his own eyes welling up. “Because you need to know,” he said. “Because I’m still a danger to you and you need to understand. They’re going to try to use me against you, angel.” 

“You’ve said that before,” Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.” 

“There’s more,” Crowley wrapped his arms around himself. “It changes things, angel. You may resent me.” 

“No.” Aziraphale said it with such conviction. Crowley lifted his eyes to meet the angel’s. “Whatever happened then wasn’t your fault.” 

“It was,” Crowley sighed. “In a way.” 

“I remember you saying,” Aziraphale frowned in concentration. “I remember you telling me that something bad was going to happen. You told me to stay out of it.” Crowley nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the angel’s face. “I didn’t.” 

“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t. You abandoned your post and you came to find me. I told you to protect yourself, but you came looking for me instead,” Crowley felt the tears fall and he didn’t try to hide them. 

“I found you, by the creek. It was where we always met. You weren’t alone, who else was there, dear?” Aziraphale wiped a tear from the demon’s cheek. 

“Hastur and Uriel,” he muttered. “I was trying to get away, Hastur was fighting. When I saw you coming I ran to you.” Crowley felt wretched and it was evident in his face. “The sky had gone red, there was smoke in the air. The sound of screams and clashing metal were all around us.” 

“You ran right into my arms,” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone hazy. “You told me I had to run, to go back. I wouldn’t. Then Hastur Fell and Uriel was coming towards us.” Crowley gently cupped the back of the angel’s head and brought their foreheads together. “You tried to push me away,” he muttered. “Crowley, you kept telling me to run, but he was going to kill you. I thought he was going to kill you.” 

“No one knew what was happening,” Crowley ran his fingers through the angel’s hair. “We were all confused. Everyone was just following orders, doing what they were told was right.” 

“I didn’t,” Aziraphale gasped and pulled back abruptly. There was the look Crowley had been dreading. Horror crept across the angel’s features and settled in his eyes. He stared at Crowley and brought his hand up to cover his mouth. “Oh God,” he gaped. 

“Angel?” Crowley was afraid to touch him. “Aziraphale, are you alright?” 

He shook his head vehemently and his eyes filled with tears. “I attacked Uriel.” Crowley nodded slowly. “He cut you,” he was breathing raggedly. “His sword came down and your blood, I saw it and I just,” he sobbed. 

Uriel had grabbed Crowley and pulled him away from Aziraphale’s arms. Crowley brought up his arms to block the blow and Uriel had swung his sword low, cutting deeply into his thigh. Crowley remembered the vivid red of his blood being cast across Aziraphale’s chest. He had fallen from the shock of the blow and landed at his angel’s feet. Aziraphale had been furious and he had raised his sword. Crowley thought his angel was going to finish him off, then Aziraphale had beat his wings and moved in front of him. The moment he realized Aziraphale meant to protect him was forever frozen in his memory. 

Aziraphale sobbed as the memory resurfaced fully and Crowley pulled the angel against his chest. He let the demon hold him as he grieved a sin he hadn’t remembered committing. 

The two angels fierce fighting had been a spectacle and had drawn attention. Crowley had seen Michael coming and dragged himself to his feet. He put himself between Aziraphale and the Archangel. He had been terrified for Aziraphale, but the angel hadn't looked frightened at all. Michael had sent Uriel away, told him to rejoin his unit. The three of them stood there for what felt like an eternity and Aziraphale had never lowered his sword. Crowley had clung to his angel’s arm, begging him to drop the weapon. Pleading for Aziraphale to let him go. Aziraphale hadn’t backed down. 

Aziraphale fought Michael with a ferocity that had visibly shocked the Archangel. He had landed blows that would have taken anyone else out of the fight. Both were injured and Aziraphale's wing had been broken. Crowley had finally ended it by throwing himself between their blades. Aziraphale’s sword had pierced his chest completely. Crowley had looked to Michael and spoken through the blood in his mouth. He had begged the Archangel to spare Aziraphale.

Aziraphale should have Fallen then and there. Crowley was infinitely grateful that Michael had taken pity on them. That didn’t stop the Archangel from fearing what would happen if the others ever remembered. Those in power Above and Below were afraid of what would happen if Aziraphale and Crowley revealed the truth. Good and Evil, Heaven and Hell, it was all arbitrary. The fact that Aziraphale hadn’t Fallen was proof of it.


	24. Choice

Crowley woke to the sensation of fingers carding through his hair. He kept his eyes closed, pretending to sleep. Aziraphale was cradling the demon against his chest and running his fingers gently through his hair and over his back. Aziraphale had large hands and Crowley had always loved the way the angel’s touch seemed to envelop him. It made him feel secure. The serpentine part of Crowley was warm and lethargic. The rational part of him was afraid of facing what had transpired the previous night. They had talked for hours about Heaven and the years between the Fall and Eden. It had opened a lot of wounds and Crowley had finally been too drained to continue talking. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, and he certainly didn’t remember moving to the bed. Aziraphale must have been uncomfortable pinned to the stylish couch by an exhausted and clingy demon. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, tugging gently at his hair. Crowley shifted, taking stock of the situation. He was still in his jeans and t-shirt, but his jacket had been lost at some point. Aziraphale had removed layers of his clothing and was down to his white button up and slacks. Crowley nuzzled the angel’s chest, not wanting to let the intimate contact end. “Anthony J. Crowley,” he singsonged. The demon blinked his bleary eyes and looked up at the angel. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were red and tired. Aziraphale’s voice was rough and soft as he said, “It’s a fine name. Would you like me to call you Anthony?” 

Crowley shivered slightly at the way the angel dragged the name out. “Call me whatever you want, angel,” he muttered, refusing to move from his comfortable position half on top of Aziraphale. 

“Can I call you Janiel?” Crowley stopped breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that could protect him from the flood of emotion and memory hearing that name brought. It was the last thing he ever expected to hear from Aziraphale’s lips. Especially when he was finally comfortably in his angel’s arms. 

“When did you remember?” He pulled himself off of the angel. Aziraphale sat up with a sigh and gazed down at the demon. 

“Last night,” he said softly. “Or this morning, after you fell asleep, dear.” Crowley forced his eyes to meet the angel’s. “It was a lot to remember and it was hard for me to accept it all. I kept replaying it all in my mind. At some point the name just came to me. Janiel, it means ‘God judges me’, doesn’t it?” 

“Don’t say it,” Crowley hissed. “That isn’t my name anymore, Aziraphale.” He sat up and moved away from the angel. His voice was weak and uncertain. He hated hearing it come from his own mouth almost as much as he hated the pity in the angel’s expression. He had feared the angel might remember his name, but now that he heard it his anxiety was blossoming into a full panic. His very identity felt uncertain. 

“No,” Aziraphale smiled gently. “I know, dear. I won’t say it again. Still, I am glad I remembered,” Aziraphale said sincerely. Crowley was afraid to let himself feel relieved. Their time together in Heaven had been a dark secret for him for over 6000 years, it was painful knowledge for him. Sharing it, even with Aziraphale, was frightening. 

“All of it?” Crowley shifted uncomfortably. “Even knowing the way it ended?” he couldn’t possibly feel more pathetic, but he had to know. He had to know that what they had confessed last night was still true. He had to know that he hadn’t screwed it all up by pushing Aziraphale to remember. 

Aziraphale chuckled and shook his head. Crowley’s chest hurt and he opened his mouth to say something mean, but the angel kissed him before he could speak. It was the second time in so many days the angel had kissed him and Crowley really hoped it was a pattern that would stick. Aziraphale pulled back after a few seconds and smiled brilliantly. 

“You ridiculous demon,” he said fondly. “It hasn’t ended.” 

“It hasn’t?” Crowley could feel the heat in his face and his brain was slow to process. There was a lot going on and his emotional responses were flipping from one extreme to another rapidly. He was at serious risk of mental whiplash. 

“Of course it hasn’t,” Aziraphale beamed. “You and I are still together, we always have been. I love you.” 

“Love you too, angel,” he smiled nervously. “That’s so easy to say, why the He-, why on Earth did we wait so long?” 

“I don’t know, dearest,” Aziraphale sighed and leaned against the headboard. “Fear, I suppose.” There was a smile playing around the angel’s lips as he spoke. With his mussed hair and rumpled clothing Crowley thought he looked wonderfully disheveled. It was a very tempting image. 

“I’m not afraid now,” Crowley said, a slow grin spreading across his features. “Are you?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him as Crowley threw his leg over the angel and hovered over his lap. 

“Well,” Aziraphale dropped his voice low and smiled innocently. “Should I be afraid of you, Anthony?” 

“Only if you keep saying my name like that, angel,” Crowley kissed him. Aziraphale made a startled sound and brought his hands to rest on the demon’s waist. Crowley didn’t want to go too fast for either of them, he was determined not to screw this up. He moved gently, ghosting his lips along the angel’s before committing to the kiss. It was a soft pressure that Aziraphale returned eagerly. 

Crowley pulled back and grinned wickedly at him. “Oh angel,” he sighed. Aziraphale’s face was flushed. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” 

“I have a pretty good idea,” Aziraphale’s eyes raked over the demon slowly. Crowley felt his face color under the force of the lust that shot through Aziraphale. He was leaning forward to kiss the angel again when a spasm wracked his body. Crowley pulled back and clenched his chest. There was a flood of infernal power like a dam burst within him. 

“Dear?” Aziraphale reached towards him and Crowley fell onto the mattress, scrambling away. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling his fingers twisting into claws. Aziraphale hovered over him and Crowley turned his face away. He was sweating and his fangs were pressing into his lips. “I’m not doing this, angel,” he said desperately. Crowley tried to push away but his abdomen cramped and forced him to curl in on himself. Sharp nails tore gashes into his shirt as his hands convulsed. His skin was prickling and he could feel the ripple of scales sprouting along his spine. “Leave,” he hissed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Aziraphale cupped his face tenderly and spoke in a calm voice, “I’m not going anywhere.” Crowley whimpered and nuzzled into the angel’s touch despite himself. He breathed deeply in an attempt to calm his wildly hammering heart. It didn’t do any good. His eyes were burning and he was sure that they had gone completely reptilian, no sliver of white left. Aziraphale met his gaze steadily anyway. 

“Why?” Crowley gasped. His skin was hot and the angel’s touch gave a little relief, but it also made him tremble. He couldn’t hold this in and Aziraphale was going to get hurt. He remembered the blasts of demonic energy that had brought the convent down and tried to pull away from him. 

The soft sound of feathers ruffling announced an arrival in the room. Crowley craned his neck to see Michael standing beside the bed, looking down at the writhing demon with contempt. “Fuck you!” Crowley growled, his voice distorted by pain and demonic influence. 

“Stop this,” Aziraphale demanded. His eyes met the Archangel’s steadily, absolutely icy in their anger. Aziraphale stood between Michael and the demon. 

“You chose him,” Michael said steadily. “I want to make sure you truly know what he is.” Michael gestured to the bed where Crowley was hissing and squirming. He could imagine what he looked like: yellow eyes blazing with anger, his pupils thin black slits, blackened claws flexing at his sides, elongated canine teeth piercing his lip while he hissed and inhuman growls tore from him, his lean body contorted in agony. He must look like something from a nightmare. His face burned with shame. Aziraphale looked at him, watched the scales sprout like freckles across his shoulders. “The first time you chose him we forgave you. We gave you a second chance Aziraphale. Would you throw it away for this creature?” 

“I didn’t ask for a second chance,” he returned coldly, keeping his eyes on Crowley. 

“No!” Crowley howled. He managed to get to his knees and aim his unsteady gaze at the Archangel. “Don’t you dare.” 

“You have no leverage left to bargain with, Crowley.” He looked at the demon with an expression of pity and distaste. “He spoke your name. The terms were that he wouldn’t remember.” 

Crowley gripped his biceps to ground himself and breathed raggedly. “Then wipe it,” he pleaded. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at him. 

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale’s voice was painfully soft. 

“Make him forget me completely, Michael, he can’t Fall,” his eyes were wet. “Not him. I’m begging you,” his voice broke. 

Aziraphale looked between Crowley and Michael slowly. “That’s what you meant,” he muttered. “That’s what you meant when you said they would use you against me?” A low hiss escaped the demon as he doubled over. Aziraphale knelt beside the bed and placed one hand on each side of the demon’s face to make Crowley meet his eyes. “You were talking about Falling all along.” 

“You can never regain the light of heaven,” Michael intoned automatically. “It’s your last chance. Smite the demon or Fall.” 

“No!” Crowley wrenched his face away from Aziraphale and looked at Michael. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. How can saving the world be wrong?” 

“Consorting with demons is wrong,” Michael said softly. “Going against orders, abandoning his unit,” he looked at Aziraphale. “When Janiel begged for your soul we took pity. You were young and had acted out of love and ignorance. Crowley can’t help you. You allowed the serpent to tempt you, you knew what you were doing.” 

“I did, then and now. I knew exactly what I was doing,” Aziraphale agreed. “Love isn’t a sin. It isn’t now and it wasn’t then,” he was speaking to Michael, but he was looking at Crowley. The demon was taking shallow breaths through his clenched teeth. He felt like his ribs were about to burst. He seized Aziraphale’s hand and held on, careful not to let his claws pierce the angel’s skin. The touch felt like a lifeline. 

“Stop hurting him, Michael,” Aziraphale commanded. Michael tilted his head just slightly. Crowley was staring unblinkingly at Aziraphale. He felt a little bit like he was seeing the angel for the first time. His face was stern and his gaze was steady. It was the first time Crowley had looked at the angel and seen a man who could be a commander. Just like that, the pain stopped. Crowley gasped and went limp. He shut his eyes and focused on reeling in his powers. His claws retracted slowly. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Michael asked sternly. 

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the side of Crowley’s head and the demon slowly released his hand. “Angel,” he pleaded. “You can’t Fall because of me. There’s no choice, you have to kill me,” he tried to keep his voice steady. 

“There is always a choice, dear,” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley shut his eyes. Of course Aziraphale would throw his own words back at him at a time like this. Bastard. “I’m not going to let you be hurt,” he promised. “And I am _not_ going to Fall.” 

Aziraphale squared his shoulders and faced Michael. The Archangel returned his stare steadily. Then he sighed and seemed to deflate. “You’ve made your choice, then.” He looked at Crowley for a long moment, sizing him up. “You both have.” There was a flash of light and Michael vanished. 

The moment he was gone Aziraphale was gathering Crowley into his arms. He ran his hand across the demon’s cheek, looking into his eyes. “Are you alright, dear?” his voice was filled with concern. “How do you feel?" He pulled Crowley’s shirt up and examined his torso, making sure he hadn’t cut himself when he’d torn his shirt. 

“I’m alright,” Crowley seized the angel’s wrists and pulled his hands away. “I’m fine, angel.” Aziraphale sighed in relief and smiled at him. Crowley couldn’t understand how he could possibly smile at a time like this. He was going to Fall and it was all Crowley’s fault. “How can you be so calm?” he demanded. His voice was rough and tired. 

“I’m not going to Fall,” Aziraphale said softly. He ran his fingers down Crowley’s arms and gently took his hands. “Dear, I don’t know how I know, but I do.” Aziraphale laced his fingers with Crowley’s. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do, angel,” Crowley sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I just don’t trust them.” He felt himself relaxing as the angel stroked his hair. There was nothing they could do now. It was out of their hands. He nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck and smiled. At least they were together.


	25. Life

Aziraphale didn’t Fall and Hell didn’t come for Crowley. They kept waiting for it to happen, but after a decade they had finally let their guard down. They had decided between them that they were simply retired. Crowley still glued coins to the sidewalk sometimes and if someone got on his nerves they’d end up with a flat tire or spill coffee on their lap, but he wasn’t keeping score anymore. Aziraphale would still do the occasional miracle for those who seemed to need it, but he didn’t feel the need to go out looking for wiles to thwart. They simply lived their lives as retired supernatural beings. 

At first they had talked about moving Crowley into the bookshop, but eventually Aziraphale had decided that he didn’t really want the shop anymore. He was tired of people trying to buy his collection. They had spent a long time talking about where they wanted to settle and decided that they wanted a peaceful place where Crowley could have a garden. They bought a cottage on the South Downs. It was quiet and pleasant and Crowley’s garden was a thing to behold. Aziraphale's collection was displayed prominently with the entire house being filled with ceiling high bookshelves. Aziraphale would sit on the porch reading while Crowley worked in the yard. He didn’t yell at the plants so much anymore, he didn’t have as much to yell about. 

They still traveled whenever the urge would strike, and not always together. Being in love didn’t mean they became one person. They still had their individual interests and desires. They still needed space once in a while. That was the reason Crowley had been in South Korea for the past few months. He had just gotten back that morning and he had brought back a few sweets and a few books for the angel. Aziraphale was particularly happy to have him home and to celebrate they were going out to a nice restaurant and, at Aziraphale’s insistence, they were going to the theater. Romeo and Juliet. Crowley hated that play, but Aziraphale had pouted so cutely when he’d complained that he had finally given in. 

Crowley was putting a coat of black varnish on his nails while Aziraphale got dressed. He had let his hair grow to nearly shoulder length and had the top layer pulled into a ponytail. He wore a tight black top that exposed a generous amount of collar bone and skin tight black slacks. His shoes were snakeskin with a half inch heel. His sunglasses were low on his nose so that he could see over the tops of the lenses. The outfit was simple, but he thought it looked good. 

“Ready dear?” Aziraphale’s voice was downright chipper as he entered the room. Crowley looked up and smiled at the angel. He had slowly convinced Aziraphale that it wasn’t in fashion to wear three or more layers every day. It had been a challenge, but Aziraphale was slowly updating his wardrobe. Now he was wearing a white button up shirt and a cream colored waistcoat that was expertly tailored. His slacks were a fitted style that Crowley had never seen him wear. They made his legs look longer. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and Crowley raised an eyebrow as he looked him over. If he didn’t know better he’d think the angel was trying to get a reaction from him. It was working. 

“You look downright sinful, angel,” he grinned. Aziraphale blushed prettily and Crowley waved his hand, drying the varnish, and walked to the angel. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and kissed the tip of his nose. 

“Flatterer,” Aziraphale smiled softly and let his hands rest on Crowley’s hips. “Are you ready, dear? I don’t want to be late.” 

“Yes, angel,” he gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m ready to spend a dreary two hours watching two sub-par actors pretend to be in love instead of giving the most adorable being on the planet all of the undivided attention he deserves.” 

The angel shook his head and chuckled. “Cute,” he said. “You’re not getting out of it.” 

Crowley gaped. “I am not cute!” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “If anything I am beautiful.” 

“You are both, dearest,” Aziraphale grabbed his jacket from the coat rack near the door and walked out. Crowley made an indignant sound as he followed, but they both knew it was for show. He loved when Aziraphale complimented him. 

He continued to complain halfheartedly as he drove them to the theater. Once inside he bought a glass of wine and allowed Aziraphale to drag him to their seats. They were good seats and they were just in time. Crowley didn’t like waiting for things to get rolling. His gloomy mood was lifted by the pure joy in Aziraphale’s expression and the way the angel had laced their fingers as the lights went down. He turned in his seat so that he could look at the angel, rather than the stage. It would be a much better show, he was sure. Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice. 

He finished the wine before the first act was over and vanished the glass. He was staring at the angel and admiring the curve of his jaw when Aziraphale turned to look at him. He smiled smugly and Crowley smirked back, he’d been caught fair and square. Aziraphale tsked quietly and nodded towards the stage. Crowley turned towards it, but he was still thinking about the angel’s alluring outfit and how he had left the top two buttons unfastened. Something interesting had to occupy his mind while he ignored this awful production. It was a college play, for someone’s sake. He didn’t understand why Aziraphale had been so insistent about going. The angel appreciated good theater, he couldn’t possibly be enjoying this. 

Crowley was pulled from his daydreaming when Aziraphale squeezed his hand. He gave the demon a meaningful look and Crowley obediently tuned in to the performance. There was some kind of balcony set piece. He sort of remembered this part being important. 

“What’s in a name?” the actress asked too dramatically. “That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.” Crowley frowned and glanced at Aziraphale. The angel was staring at him, eyes filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Crowley looked back at the stage and focused on the lines. They weren’t being delivered very well, but apparently they meant something to Aziraphale. “So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title.” Aziraphale brought Crowley’s hand up and kissed his knuckles. The demon blushed and stared back at him. He slipped a little lower in his seat and pulled Aziraphale’s hand to his chest so the angel could feel how hard his heart was beating. 

_No matter what name you go by,_ Aziraphale’s eyes were telling him, _you are the one who held me in Heaven, the one who saved my body on earth, the one who stood by my side when the world almost ended, the one I chose to spend my life with._

Crowley could feel how warm his face was getting. Aziraphale’s blue eyes were practically glowing in the dark theater and he tugged the demon’s hand and angled his head towards the exit. Crowley blinked and tilted his head curiously. Was Aziraphale suggesting they leave? He followed as the angel dragged him to his feet and slipped out a side door. Aziraphale pulled him through an emergency exit and into a dimly lit alley. 

Crowley was flushing furiously. “Angel,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Did we really come all the way out here for those two lines?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale’s hands were suddenly on either side of the demon’s head and he pressed himself close, sending a shiver through Crowley. “Though I wasn’t prepared for you to be quite so blatant about your lust for the better part of the evening. It’s a very distracting feeling, dearest.” 

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley breathed. “You’re the one who wore the sexy clothes.” 

Aziraphale laughed softly and pushed away from the wall. Crowley was disappointed, but only a little. “You’re incorrigible,” the angel smiled. “It’s one of the things I love about you.” 

“So, the whole point of this was to tell me you love me via poorly performed Shakespeare?” Crowley appreciated the effort, but honestly the angel could have just kissed him senseless. 

“No, I have something else I need to tell you, I just wanted to make a point first,” his voice had gone soft. Crowley frowned and reached for the angel. 

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face and looked him over closely, trying to find any sign of distress or injury that he had missed earlier in the day. Then it struck him. “Wait, did you say you could feel my lust?” Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Angel’s can’t do that.” Crowley felt horror blossoming in his chest. 

Aziraphale caught his hands as they fell away from him. He pulled Crowley against his chest and looked into his eyes. “Don’t panic,” he commanded. “I did not Fall.” Crowley was already panicking. His heart was stuttering in his chest and his eyes had gone hazy. 

“Then how could you feel that?” his voice was watery. 

“The same way I can feel the love coming from you right now, dearest,” he said. “The same way I’m sure you could feel my love if you focused.” Crowley frowned hard and tried to pull away from Aziraphale. The angel was reluctant to let him go, but he allowed the demon to take a step back. 

Crowley closed his eyes and focused. He could feel the electric flashes of lust, pinging like a beacon between them. There was something else though, a feeling that was warm and steady and enveloped them like a fog. It was soft and made his whole body feel light. He opened his eyes and gazed at the angel in wonder. “How is this possible?” 

“The Metatron visited me while you were gone,” Aziraphale said cautiously. He was picking his words carefully. Crowley felt a bolt of panic as he thought of all of the horrible things that could have happened to Aziraphale while he was home alone. It was selfish and stupid of him to take a vacation when Heaven and Hell could make their move any day. “Stop worrying,” Aziraphale scolded. “I can see the wheels in your head turning, dear, do not get worked up. Nothing bad happened.” 

“The voice of God just popped by for a biscuit and a chat, then?” he snarked. 

Aziraphale’s glare was enough to silence him. “The Metatron came to deliver a message. And I quote, you’ve made your choice and can no longer be an angel, just as Crowley can no longer be a demon. What you will become now is up to you. Use your free will wisely.”

“But,” Crowley frowned in confusion. “But you are still an angel, I can feel the divine energy. And I am absolutely still a demon,” he took his sunglasses off to make a point. 

“I think we can expect some subtle changes,” Aziraphale said. “But I think we’ll become more or less what we want to be. It’s uncharted territory, so I can’t say for certain, but The Metatron didn’t make it sound like a punishment. It almost felt like this is meant to be a gift to us.” 

“A gift,” Crowley blinked slowly. “From God?” his tone was incredulous. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale’s smile was so happy it was nearly blinding. 

Crowley thought about his last run in with Lucifer and the absolute certainty in his voice when he had assured Crowley that Aziraphale wouldn’t Fall. He scowled. “Ineffability.” 

“What dear?” Aziraphale had a far away look on his face. Crowley sighed and smiled softly. 

“Whatever this means we’ll figure it out together,” he pulled Aziraphale into his arms. “I love you, angel.” 

“I love you too, Crowley,” he wound his arms around the demon’s waist. Crowley smiled sweetly and leaned down, capturing the angel’s lips in a soft kiss. This was uncharted territory, then again everything about their lives and relationship had been uncharted. As long as Aziraphale was with him they would be okay. Crowley hummed softly as the angel pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. He could feel the love coming from Aziraphale in gentle waves and it was by far the best feeling he'd ever known.


End file.
